


Solar Flare.

by anantipodean



Series: BATS in SPACE [2]
Category: DCU - Comicverse, Red Robin (Comics), Robin (Comics), Superboy (Comic), Young Justice (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, Bat-parenting, Developing Relationship, F/M, M/M, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-26
Updated: 2013-05-19
Packaged: 2017-12-09 13:31:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/774768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anantipodean/pseuds/anantipodean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>CADMUS may be exposed and the prisoners transported to Gotham, but matters are far from resolved. Kon takes a chance; Tim takes a holiday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Light Up.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much to everyone who left kudos or comments on the first part of this series! With your encouragement, I've discovered a lot more potential in this 'verse than I first thought. I'm quite excited to see where it goes, and it feels good to know that I have you along for the journey. 
> 
> I'd also like to give rui a special thank you for audiencing for me as I write. I know I would not have made the progress I have on this fic without you!

It was a family affair. Bruce who first decided the laboratory on the penal planet needed investigating and who applied most of the political pressure to get the case wrapped up, Dick and Oracle who did the preliminaries, and Jason who applied some more overt pressure, ensuring that demands were met, questions answered and the CADMUS story saw the Interplanetary Press.

Despite this, there was unspoken agreement that this was Tim’s case, and no one said anything about the hours he put in, tracking culpability, discerning who was using and who merely used, doing everything humanly possible to make sure that anyone knowingly involved with the CADMUS penal colony would be implicated.

And then it’s done. Out of their hands and Tim feels almost empty without it.

It’s a natural reaction, if illogical -- but then many reactions are. Tim knows himself, knows it’s only the loss of a focus. Once they have a new case, it will pass. Until then he learns to sleep again, picks up the threads of what is usually called his everyday life and tries to ignore that he still feels empty.

Gotham’s Sun rises late. The morning always looks grey, waiting for the first direct rays to fall on the city, and the floor to ceiling windows of the dining hall, and the polished surface of the marble which picks up the reflection of the sky do nothing to halt this encroach of grey.

Tim is considering this, considering the view afforded by the 40 stories of the Wayne Tower, and not actually considering anything deeper than whether or not he will regret taking more of Alfred’s scrambled eggs, when Dick sets the tablet down in front of him.

“Hey, Tim. Your bit of rough is centre-fold.”

It is a half-second too late that Tim notices the silence as the rest of the breakfast room’s inhabitants listen. He’s already reaching for the tablet.

“That wasn’t funny the first time,” is all he says, looking down at the image. His tone is matter of fact, picking out Micky and Serling among the miners in the photo. The picture had been taken from overhead, looking down onto a grassy surface, the arm of a guard and shadow of a transport shuttle pinning the location as the Gotham Penitentiary landing bay. The miners have clearly just arrived on Gotham, being shepherded towards the Penitentiary buildings for processing. Their rugged clothing has been traded in for typical prison jumpsuits, and Tim frowns. “It’s going to trial then?”

“The Serious Offenders have been transported to Belle Reve or Arkham already. The political prisoners, those alleging trial misconduct -- or no trial at all in the case of your friends -- will have their cases heard on an individual basis.” Dick leaned one arm on the table, looking at the photo that was front page of the _Gotham Globe._

Tim nodded, and for a moment they both looked down contemplating Kon.

It’s a striking image. A group in motion, Kon is the only one standing still. While the group trudges towards their next holding cell, Serling glancing back over her shoulder, concern evident, Kon’s got one hand shielding his eyes and he’s just looking up with an unguarded expression that’s going to make Tim furious if he thinks about it too much. He is about to hand the tablet back to Dick when he feels the weight of Stephanie’s interest and gives it to her instead.

“Who is covering the trial?”

“We all are. Shifts.” The rustle of paper as Bruce sets his newspaper down signals business.

It’s real paper, a luxury that only the very wealthiest of Gotham’s elite can continue to indulge, and thus not as up to the minute as Dick’s tablet feed, but it is a tradition that is seldom interrupted. “Jason’s got word of something happening, but not what.”

“Cannon mentioned the AGENDA.” Tim glanced at Stephanie. “Started out a fringe activist group in favour of meta-experimentation; went underground--”

“After the rulings of the IPC in favour of granting rights to metas recognized as sentient races by the Council. I’m not an amateur, Tim. I’ve been looking into them all week.”

“My bad. What did you find out?”

“Nothing. Everyone who knows anything about the AGENDA’s gone very quiet. And before you think it’s me, ORACLE’s been on it too and neither of us could turn up anything.”

“Plans made, they’re ready to act?”

“Won’t know until it happens. And when it happens, we’ll be ready.” Bruce shook out his paper, going back to reading, a signal that they should all get to work. Tim stood. Should have taken the scrambled eggs while he had the chance.

Being official family came with advantages and disadvantages. One of the disadvantages was being recognized. Bruce Wayne was attending as himself, which meant that people would be looking for his wards. That meant sombre suits and ties for Dick and Tim, and Jason in full body armour and mask as a Court designated guard. Stephanie got off relatively lightly with business jacket and skirt, just one of the many Wayne aides, soon to be one of the many courtroom aides once they got inside and the crowds allowed them to spread out. Tim would have liked the opportunity to be nameless and faceless today, but was pretty sure that Stephanie considered it just one more thing to be mad at him about.

In response to the massive amount of media interest generated by the case, Gotham’s Central Court was being used. It was a prestigious building generally considered a classic inside and out. Neo-neo-gothic architecture married comfort and practicality, the seemingly lush furnishings actually concealed all the safety precautions and reinforcements expected of a building that was routinely assailed. Despite having been there for many of the altercations that made the building infamous, Tim had to admit that even he could not see a trace of them. It looked more like a theatre, milling with patrons, than an actual working court. That was until you glanced into the centre of the sloping seating, and saw the faint shimmer of the force-field separating the prisoners from the rest of the court.

Tim took a moment to survey the court before making his way down. Court was not in session but would be soon, the prisoners already seated in the centre ring. Micky’s team had petitioned to be seen together and had got their way, with one exception -- no court was willing to let Dubbilex stand trial within it. The telepath was represented by a proxy, but the others were all there, Micky talking to their legal team while Tekka listened, Serling curled up in her seat, slumped against Kon as she dozed. He had one arm around her, the other playing with the armrest of his seat, as he slouched back looking up at the ceiling with an expression that too plainly said he was miles away.

Understandable. According to what Oracle had gleaned from the court records, they’d been doing individual interviews and telepathic testimony for days. They should all be exhausted.

Understandable, and yet--

“Don’t let your guard down just because you’re out of the caverns. This is Gotham.”

Kon snorted. “This is _boring_. I don’t think I’ve ever--” He started as he realized, almost hitting his head on the carved wooden panelling that separated the central court from the rows of press seating.

“And this is exactly what I mean,” Tim said, casually pausing to brush non-existent dust of his jacket sleeve. “Blood in the water. We’re all sharks here.” He glanced down to see how Kon was taking his advice.

“You’re a day late. They took King Shark to Belle Reve yesterday.” Kon tilted his head back challengingly, hand dropping down to pat Serling’s shoulder, but there was something in his eyes that didn’t match his smirk and Tim knew that his advice was wasted. He was having to concentrate of following it himself; the interested flicker of Kon’s eyes had reminded Tim that this was the first time Kon had seen him in light without his mask. “How--”

“The anonymous sponsor who is covering your legal fees wanted to make sure he gets his money worth.” Tim shrugged. “I’m just here to observe.”

Bruce was waiting in an empty row of seats near the back of the court. Dick detached from a cloud of socialites a moment later and the three of them sat to watch the start of the morning’s proceedings.

“Was that necessary?” Bruce had noticed, of course.

Tim had been asking himself the same question. “I think so,” he said slowly. “I’m pretty sure Serling didn’t have the chance to finish her research--”

Dick snorted. “You’re as bad as each other. Give the kid a break, Bruce. Tim and I owe him.”

“You can owe him from afar.”

The trial dragged.

The Paradox crews’ testimonies agreed, were judged free of signs of telepathic tampering, and it was clear that they were in no way deserving of 5 years in a normal penal facility, let alone imprisoned in Waller’s mining facility. Yet, every legality that could delay a decision was being scrounged up and thrown at the court by Westfield’s own legal team.

Did their refusal to allow Experiment 13 to be terminated constitute breach of contract? Was the Experiment’s escape legitimate self-defence or theft? Micky and Serling’s failure to deliver the agreed upon meta-clone was dwelt on time and time again.

Dick’s anger was evident in restlessness beside Tim, and Tim knew his companions would be able to read his own in his stillness. It was poor thanks for all they’d undergone and risked to be met with this application of justice--

“Anderson’s a solid judge. He won’t be distracted by these trivialities and he won’t allow the jury to be sidetracked by them either,” Bruce reminded them.

“They must know its useless. What are they even doing -- playing for time?” As soon as Dick said it, it made sense. Delaying tactics, but making time for what?

Tim sat up a little straighter, scanning the court. Most of the spectators were nodding as Micky informed the court with the bluntness he was renowned for what he thought of the suggestion that his people had not done their utmost to fulfill their contract -- down to the last clause, which he emphasized with a pause. Serling was tense, beside him. She was next to be cross interrogated.

Kon was sulking. He’d been threatened with ejection from the court if he interrupted proceedings one more time, and now he was containing himself with obvious difficulty. Still, it was comforting to know that Kon was capable of that measure of control. Tim wondered if his advice earlier had any impact at all in that, until he realized that no longer angry, Kon was sitting up with an attitude of alertness--

There it was. The high pitched frequency of something metallic--

“Android,” Tim said, feeling Dick shift beside him, readying himself to move.

That’s all the warning they had. The next second it was all screams and panic, the air filled with smoke and debris, dust rising from where the android impacted with the floor. Many of the reporters were here the last time the court was attacked, and they know what to do, flinging briefcases above their heads to shield them as they scramble to the reinforced columns at the side.

The android ignored them, and the court guards falling into pre-arranged formation at the boundary of the court. It paused a moment, blaster-arm still aimed at the smoking podium where Micky had been giving his rebuttal before turning towards the chair that Serling had been waiting in. Smoke obscured it, but the moment that cleared, the geneticist was toast--

“Jason,” Tim said quietly. “Hold back.”

There was no response from their radio link, but Tim could feel the looks Dick and Bruce were giving him. He was surprised at himself too. He didn’t usually take a chance on a hypothesis without confirmation like this. Especially with lives at stake.

Dick swore as another explosion of light was followed by the smell of more burning. “Two of them?”

“No,” Bruce said. “Look again. That was from the witness stand.”

Tim didn’t respond. He was wondering what it said about him that he was relieved by the presence of more lazers in the crowded court.

The android was momentarily more interested in its now wrecked blaster arm than its mission. Trying once to fire the arm and finding it useless, it instead discarded the remains of its arm, a new one snapping up out of storage. This one was much bigger, bulkier -- intended to smash rather than burn. Whirring, it spun its head around, searching for and locking on Serling, now on entirely the wrong side of the court.

And standing in front of Serling and Micky down, looking entirely too pleased with himself?

“Kid, get down! It’s targeting us -- you’re only putting yourself in danger!”

“It’s cool, Micky.” Kon’s grin was lazy, stretching his arms out, giving the android ample time to assess the threat he posed. “I have this feeling today’s my lucky day.”

Evidently finding the threat negligible, the android brought the hammer down. Or tried to. Kon met it halfway. Straining metal screeched in a weird approximation of frustration, followed by an urgent beeping as the android tried to recalibrate.

“Kon!” Serling could be forgiven her exclamation. A robot had just tried to kill her and now it was attacking someone important to her. “You’re -- How?”

Kon’s expression was unworried, focused. “Dunno why, but I feel great, Serl. Ever since we got to Gotham.” He stepped forward, and this time the screech was of metal on marble as the robot was forced backwards. “Everything about me just feels lighter, faster--” And the screeching metal was replaced by the crash of the robot colliding with the mostly evacuating press benches (mental note: friendly word to Kon about _procedure_ ). “Guess you could say, I’m feeling super.”

“Kid!” Micky barked. “You’re--”

“Flying.” Kon grinned down at him. “Pretty cool, huh.”

“ _Open._ Micky sighed, crossing his arms as a metallic arm snaked out, snatching Kon out of mid-air and slamming him into the floor. “Pretty sure Jim covered how to dismantle a robot. Don’t embarrass us, Kid.”

“Give me some slack! This is my first practical after all--” Kon had decided to solve the problem of the android’s respawning arms by tackling the matter at the source, and ripping its current arm from it. The rest of its armoured body went the same way.

The family could have done it more efficiently and more elegantly, but Tim had to admit that Kon’s approach was faster, and refreshingly direct. “Hewitt’s work on meta-human physiologies wasn’t published until after Serling was working for CADMUS,” he explained to Dick and Bruce. “It’s likely Westfield kept them as isolated as the current staff. So while I’m sure she’d have tested the potency of different levels of radiation--”

“She wasn’t aware of theories surrounding solar radiations,” Bruce finished. “I see.” He returned to his seat and after a moment, Dick did the same.

“That’s a pretty cool deduction. When did you work it out?”

“I’ve been re-reading our Files on the Kryptonian,” Tim said. “There’s some resemblance.” Another screech from the floor drew their attention back to the android.

“And your heart-rate?”

“Normal, Serl.” Kon had managed to get the android into pieces and was happily breaking those pieces down into even smaller pieces. “But if you want to take my temperature later--” He paused. “Uh, this is a bomb, right? Damnit, I can never remember if it’s the red wire or the blue--”

“Make way for the mechanic.” Micky shouldered both of them out of the way to deal to the android’s hidden surprise and suddenly Serling and Kon were looking at each other.

“Kon!” Either the situation or the realization had caught up with Serling; her voice shock. “Do you know what this means?”

“Yeah,” Kon’s grin was smug, but Tim was pretty sure that he had to have noticed that the weapons the guards carried were now all trained on him. “It’s means you’re a goddamned genius, Serl.” Bomb defused, Micky stood and Kon’s smile rested on him too. “And Micky Cannon’s reputation for fixing anything’s still intact.”

“Kid, you have so much to learn about timing.” But Micky’s snort was undercut as he pulled Kon in, the clone’s other arm drawing Serling with him, and Tim was pretty sure that would be the image on the next issue of the _Globe_. The three of them, holding each other in the wrecked courthouse while the dust raised by the battle continued to settle around them. “Get out of here.”

“But--”

“No buts. You’re not getting yourself dissected to cement our reputations and that’s final.” Micky’s words are punctuated by the echos of orders coming in over the Court guards radios.

“God, Kon. Be safe--”

“And if you can’t be safe, be careful.”

He must feel lost. They’re the only constants in his five years of life, and everything he thought he knew just changed. But five years of putting on a front in the caverns is a hard habit to break, apparently. Kon’s smile is assured, confident -- over confident. “Later.”

He’s gone and he wasn’t exaggerating the faster. They’ll need to call in the special forces just to have a chance of catching up with him -- if they even can at this point.

Tim’s pretty sure that’s a lost cause.

For anyone but them, at least.

“First person to the meta gets their pick of cases for the next week.” Jason’s first to break the silence, from the sound of things already outside the building, still in the guard uniform.

“No cheating and calling in any favours!” It’s hard to tell where Steph is, but she’s moving fast.

“You guys have a head start, but Tim and I have the advantage of knowing the guy.” Dick got to his feet. It’s occurring to the few remaining spectators that nothing more is likely to happen and it may be safe to move. “Bruce? Come on -- just a friendly wager.”

Tim’s pretty sure that it’s only because it’s Dick who asks that Bruce nods. “One week. Not that I condone the three of you turning this into a competition.”

“Four of us,” Dick protested, leading the way down the stairs. “Tim’s not letting go of his miner-hunk without a fight.”

Tim gave Dick’s back a withering look. “Tim was thinking of taking some over-due time off.” Beat. “And you have to stop calling him that.”

Dick elbowed Tim comfortably as they reach the the end of the row of seats and could walk beside each other. “What happened to a sense of humour? Fine, I’ll drop the jokes but you don’t have to sulk about it.”

“I’m not sulking. I’m serious about the time off.” 

“How long?”

Tim glanced back at Bruce. It was hard to tell what he was thinking. “Two weeks. I was hoping for the beach house.”

“One week. And it’s yours.”

Just a week. Tim nodded. He’d just have to make it count. “I’ll take it. And your meet and greet at the Wayne Institute tomorrow, Dick.”

Dick still wasn’t sure that Tim wasn’t angry, but the offer to take the social reassured him. And Tim was pretty sure that once he’s thought about it, Dick is not going to object to the time off -- usually Tim has to be made to take it. “I’d almost forgotten about that. Thanks, Tim.”

“Anytime."


	2. Whiplash.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim makes headlines, Kon makes an entrance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a head's up, I've been sick and am behind schedule with the next chapter! Hopefully I will have it up within the week, but I wanted to get this out so you weren't waiting too long for an update. I've also had to revise the number of chapters for this part as it looks like it's going to need at least one more after the next. 
> 
> I've also got a companion piece in the works -- something not part of this sequence but happening at the same time, so look out for that, too!

The social function at the Wayne Institute was hardly challenging. Tim might not be the media darling that Dick was, nor did he have Bruce’s aloof charm. Still, having the third of Wayne’s acknowledged heirs in attendance was a definite compliment to the project the Institute was currently fundraising for, and meant the media could not afford to ignore it -- the Wayne name sold papers.

Tim’s sudden substitution for Dick would spark the usual interest in Tim’s career -- they all knew he was being groomed for some high-ranking Wayne position, but not what -- and while Tim was still a relative unknown, that in itself meant there was plenty of scale for media speculation. The faces turned towards him, microphones and notebooks at the ready, held pleasant anticipation -- and more than a few looked relieved. Perhaps, Tim reflected ruefully, as he cleared his throat and began the speech the PR office had given him to learn in the car to the event, the biggest point in Tim’s favour was simply that he was not Jason -- universally acknowledged as the ‘awkward one’ of Wayne’s triumvirate of wards.

Jason enjoyed that. A little too obviously, in Tim’s opinion, but it had got Jason his way, and Tim’s increased roster of social events had given him ample time to develop and perfect the part of Tim Drake, the third Wayne heir and ‘the quiet one’ of the family. Tim was a little bit too earnest and serious, but possessed an unexpectedly self-deprecating humour that surfaced whenever he forayed off-script -- often, but not too often and to such good effect that he never caused the PR office any headaches.

The PR office had even come to recognise his ‘style’ and Tim was reasonably confident that he could identify where the script he’d memorized had been edited from the speech written for Dick. As he finished the speech to polite applause and the floor opened to questions, Tim saw his handler relax. Tim could be trusted to be polite to the press and answer questions in a way that would not embarrass the Wayne name.

Usually.

“What was that about?”

Tim gave his handler his politely confused expression. He was pretty sure it wouldn’t work -- the PR team had been broken in by Dick and Jason after all, by the time Tim had appeared, there was very little they weren’t used to -- but he thought it better to try. “Pardon?”

“The ‘I’m not seeing Analise Costa,’ comment.” His handler looked up from her PDA to side-eye him in the backseat of the chauffeured car. “You’re not seeing Analise.”

“No.”

“You never were seeing Analise.”

Tim made a non-commital sound. The actress was not that much older than he was, and they’d got on well the last few times their paths had crossed at the Gotham Film Festival and Emmy after party. He actually felt some regret for sacrificing the fledgling friendship, but Analise was pretty, coy about her love-life and had an upcoming feature that would benefit from the added publicity, so he didn’t feel too bad about it.

“And now every paper in Gotham will be linking you and--” The PR woman suddenly paused. “Was that on purpose?”

Tim, who had thought he had done an alright job of being circumspect blinked.

It was amazing how quickly a person could go from frazzled to maternal. “There are easier ways to get a girl’s attention.”

Tim was pretty sure that he was in danger of getting his cheek pinched. “I know,” he said with a mixture of teenage hopelessness and shyness. “But--” He left it hanging.

“Leave it to me. I’ll have your name and photo in every paper on the planet all week, Mr. Timothy.”

Tim’s smile was genuine gratitude. “That would be great.”

The car dropped him at the base of the Wayne Tower just as Dick stepped out of an identical vehicle. The oldest of the Wayne heirs fell into step beside Tim with a smirk. “No need to ask if you got the summons then.”

“Summons?”

“Check your phone. Bruce wanted both of us back here ASAP.” Dick entered the code for the private top floors as Tim retrieved his phone from his pocket. “Did you know that Analise Costa has a thing for you?” 

Bruce’s expression could have stopped Dick’s teasing and Tim’s bickering alone. The suit helped, however. There was just something arresting about Batman, even in daylight, even in the otherwise innocuous lounge. “Suit up. The League wants to hear your mission debrief.”

So arresting in fact, that Tim was halfway into his suit before it occurred to him why the League would want to hear from him and Dick, and how. He hesitated. This was very sudden--

“It’s fine, really,” Dick said, and Tim wasn’t surprised he’d guessed. “Yeah, they’re the League, but.” He shrugged, giving Tim a conspiratorial smile. “We work with Batman.”

Tim returned the smile. They worked with Batman.

Still, stepping out of the transporter into the echoing hall of the League space-station was something else entirely. Tim was grateful for Bruce’s purposeful tread and Dick’s casual saunter. Both of them knew where they were going, a fact that was much needed comfort. Tim had had time to work out what was going to happen and he’d decided that he didn’t like it.

They moved from dark hall to dimly lit room in almost complete silence. Tim concentrated on the faint swish of their capes. It counteracted some of the weight he imagined from the surrounding shadows. He was even more grateful for its concealing length and comforting heaviness, especially as he became aware of the other presences in the room. Five chairs set evenly in a circle, four already occupied. Tim could discern the outline of an arm resting on the side of the chair, a decidedly female curve and -- wings?

In the centre of the room were two waiting chairs. Standing before them was a figure Tim recognized instantly as The Martian.

He was _not_ going to like this.

“Nightwing. Robin. We appreciate you joining us.” It was a polite formula, nothing more. You didn’t say no to the League. The Martian must have known that, but he still inclined his head.

“It’s an honour to assist.” Dick sounded cool and absolutely unruffled. Tim knew this wasn’t his first time, but still. He couldn’t even imagine feeling this comfortable among the world representatives. “This is about the CADMUS case, of course.”

“The case has implications that stretch even beyond the Interplanetary Alliance. The League wish to be assured of the limits of the Batman’s involvement.”

It wasn’t rebuke -- Tim was reasonably certain that some of the info that had started Bruce off on his investigation had come via the League to start with. But it was this subtle system of checks and balances that kept the members of the League from abusing their considerable powers. Batman took his place in the seat left for him, melding with the dark to become almost purely a silhouette. “They won’t delve into anything to do with your identity,” he told his two apprentices. “They will focus purely on your impressions of the case and your actions on CADMUS.”

Dick was already sitting down, shifting in his seat until he was comfortable, and Tim had no choice but to follow suit.

“If you are ready,” the Martian said. “Let us begin.”

Tim found himself remembering standing in the cavern, the gravity of his mission hitting for the first time. At the same time, he felt curiously disconnected from the memory -- perhaps a side effect of the other consciousnesses he felt also in the memory? Knowing himself spectated, he’d assumed the role of a spectator in his own mind--

“Try not to analyse, Robin. Just remember and let your mind drift naturally.”

Naturally? Tim squashed that thought -- he did not want to cause an Interplanetary incident just because he wasn’t completely comfortable with telepathy -- and instead tried to let his thoughts drift. It wasn’t working, so after a moment he gave up, and focused instead on simply remembering, as if he were drafting the mission debrief he delivered to Batman.

That made it easier and they got through his discovery of the plundered body, Kon’s distressing introduction to the deterioration of the penal colony and the more serious evidence of political crime and cover-ups that Tim had uncovered at the Paradox. The company in his head were quiet, their thoughts their own, and Tim found himself accepting them more as a silent audience. He was relaxed as he remembered the journey to the Lab, even pausing a moment to wonder again at Kon’s easy compliance with his plans.

He hadn’t allowed himself the luxury of remembering in this much detail since the journey. In his report to the family Tim had been a little more concerned with omitting, and ever since he’d been so busy working on tying their loose ends together, that there hadn’t been time. It was with decidedly wry feelings, that Tim let himself dwell on the ground crawler -- had he really spent close to 4 days in that mess? It was a wonder he and Kon had survived it -- Tim was all right with confined spaces, but he needed privacy and mental space. That their odd camaraderie had developed was surprise enough, but that it had endured ...

A curious thought prompted, and Tim remembered Kon’s infuriating carelessness. Tim had plainly spelt out the dangers and the fact that he was in no need of back up, but had Kon listened? Of course not.

The fact that Kon had been useful was only more worrying, because it did not bode well that his ridiculous belief in himself had been encouraged and Tim frowned. The world of the caverns, terrible as it had been was familiar to him, and he understood how it worked. Outside of that, with powers he barely understood to boot--

Tim felt the same sense of worry he’d tried to ignore in the courtroom, a feeling that was only increased as he remembered Kon’s easy explanation of the lab. ‘ _You need me. I’m here. End of story._ ’ That kind of thinking was going to get him trouble, and he didn’t even know how vulnerable he was--

There was a deepening of interest and Tim reacted without thought. “That’s _personal._ ”

His words sounded too loud, too abruptly in the still chamber and Tim thought for a long moment that he’d overstepped some line. The silence spread, and Tim was aware of Dick’s alert interest, shaken out of his own recollections, and Bruce’s still gaze.

“Apologies, Robin. We will resume when you are ready.”

If they noticed that he skimmed through the rest of the mission as quickly as possible, no one commented. He had to slow down for the parts including Match for obvious reasons -- the Interplanetary media had gone hysteric over the fact that there was an unaligned, unknown meta on the loose, and the fact that there was a second, obviously problematic one was a complication that League needed to be informed about. Tim ended the memory on their departure from the labs. “We returned to the ship, and Nightwing and I returned to Gotham. That’s it.”

There was a sense of questions unasked still in the room, but the silent figures in those chairs were stirring. Tim got a glimpse of light reflected from a coiled lasso, was pretty sure that he’d identified one of the silent watchers. Or was it two? One figure did not move, and Tim felt himself observed, even as he joined Dick at the edge of the circle.

“The League will convene to discuss this further.” And that voice could only be the Amazonian. “Will you join us, Batman?”

“I will.” Bruce’s tone was unreadable. “Nightwing, Robin. You may leave.”

Nightwing was silent only until they reached the lift. “That bad, huh.”

“I don’t know how you can be so casual.”

“Practice,” Dick assured him. “And I’ve assisted a few of them. They’re not so bad -- occasionally, they even seem human.” He paused, and Tim knew what was coming.

“I didn’t know,” he said. “I wasn’t exactly thinking about it.”

“Only you.” Dick’s hair ruffle was amused, but his eyes were worried. “I wouldn’t have teased you if I’d known it was serious.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“Well, not as much. It is serious then.”

Tim tested the adjective out. “I don’t know,” he said, irritably, loosening his gauntlets as they reached the Wayne Tower. “It’s -- complicated.”

“Mm.” Dick did not remove his suit. He would be staying in the private floors of the Tower to see what his contacts had found on Kon’s progress before joining Steph and Jason in searching for him -- the League’s request would have set him behind a lot. “Actually complicated, or are you making things much more difficult for yourself than they need to be?”

Tim surprised both of them by actually considering that. “I don’t know. This is your area of expertise.”

“If you agree this is my area of expertise, does that mean you’ll take my advice?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Teasing. But you’re right -- this is something you have to work out yourself. Though I’ll tell you one thing, Tim. You’re not going to figure this out by taking a holiday. If you want to work out where you stand with Kon, you need to find him.”

Tim wasn’t sure if Dick taking it seriously was better or worse than the teasing. “I’ll work on it. After I pack.”

The truth was that he’d had too much time to think. To doubt. To wonder just what he was doing. The success of the PR campaign itself wasn’t enough to settle his thoughts. Tim had been papped leaving the Mercury Bay airport, and news that Timothy Drake was soothing his heartache by retreating to the Wayne’s luxury beach house alone was making headlines before he’d even put his suitcase away. Everything was going according to plan.

Except that Tim had no idea what he was going to do if the plan didn’t work.

Even the perfect weather, the sun bright, the intense blue of the sky reflected in the brilliance of the ocean, or the heat of the white sand beneath his bare feet as he made his way to the private stretch of shore-line attached to the beach house didn’t entirely reassure. As the media was constantly speculating, there were just too many unknowns where Kon was concerned.

Tim was relieved when Dick rang, if only for the interruption to his thoughts. “There’s still a chance for you to get in on the action,” Dick informed him. “That lead Jay was guarding so jealously? He’s just gone and found another underground fighting ring.”

“Again?” Jason’s habit of finding missions that required him to go undercover and fight a lot of people was nothing short of miraculous.

“Won’t take him more than a day or two to clear it up, but if we join forces we can over-take him. What do you say?”

“I’m expecting company.”

“Expecting--” There was a moment where Tim swore he could hear the look Dick was giving him. “You do know that you don’t have to be Bruce to work with him.”

“I’m not trying to copy Bruce.”

“Are you sure? You’re okay with casual flirting but the moment anyone tries to take things further, you retreat. Steph--”

“Let’s not talk about Steph.”

“Just pointing out that you are starting a trend here. An unfortunate trend. So when you’re ready to stop hiding on the beach--”

“Company’s here. Talk to you later.”

“What are you--”

Tim set his phone down on the arm of his deck chair, standing. He felt somehow flustered and at the same time as if a weight had been lifted and he was suddenly free. “Hey.”

Kon’s grin was assured and smug and entirely at odds with his words. “Sorry -- I interrupted?”

“No,” Tim said, looking him over. “I was hoping you’d find me.”

Kon had, as expected, ditched the prison jumpsuit. The plain t-shirt was probably prison attire, the jeans were not, acquired en route. The haircut was unexpected, but effective. It would take Tim some time to get used to it, and he knew Kon.

Kon had subtly shifted posture. Showing off? Probably just pleased with himself for finding Tim. “Yeah? You could’ve sent an invitation.”

“Didn’t you see the papers? That was on purpose, you know.” Tim reached out to run his fingers through Kon’s newly short hair. “You did this yourself. It’s crooked.”

“Was kind of in a rush. Don’t know if you noticed, but your entire planet’s freaking out that there’s a convict meta running around the place right now. And does that mean you can’t introduce me to Analise Costa? ‘Cause, man, that girl is stacked.”

“Idiot,” Tim said with an elbow to Kon’s side. “Come on inside and I’ll fix your hair.”

“Woah. One thing at a time, here.” Despite his words, Kon followed Tim without hesitation towards the house. “Yeah, I know I’m kind of trusting you with a lot right now, but my hair?”

Tim had been worried for nothing. They were going to be fine. “What other choices do you have?” He waved to the housekeeper as she looked up in surprise. “We’ve got an extra for dinner, Mrs. Mac. Conner’s an old school friend. Was in the neighbourhood and saw the papers, decided to look me up.”

Kon caught the lie easily. “Hope I’m not putting you out,” he said, stopping to shake hands.

“Not at all! It’ll be a pleasure to have a friend of Timothy’s here. Dinner--”

“Actually, I was thinking we could order in,” Tim suggested. “It’s Conner’s first visit to Mercury Bay. Turns out he hasn’t tried Indigo Burgers yet.” And Tim owed it to Kon to introduce him to rat-free burgers.

“So,” Kon said, immediately they were alone in Tim’s room, and Tim was pulling out the suitcase of stuff he’d borrowed from Jason and Dick. “Conner, huh.”

“I’ve been playing with a few identities for you,” Tim explained. “They’re not complete yet. I figured you’d want to shape them yourself.”

“Identities?”

“Everyone needs at least two.” Tim found his scissors. “Am I going to wreck these trying to cut your hair?”

“I don’t think so. It’s weird. The invulnerability seems to be on purpose.”

“Really?” That was not the impression Tim had got from his reading on The Kryptonian. “Well, stay still then.”

Kon listened. He stayed still -- or still for him -- and from the way his attention had wandered from his reflection, Tim was pretty sure that it wasn’t out of concern for his hair.

“There,” Tim said when he was satisfied. “Can’t do anything about your face, but your hair is decent at least.”

“Very funny. Two identities, you say?”

“This bothers you.”

“Well, yeah.” Kon frowned, and Tim wondered if he should point out that Kon wasn’t sitting on the bed, he was sitting above the bed. “I mean -- I’m not sure who I am right now. I’m not sure I’m ready to be another person entirely.”

“It’s not like that. We pick a name, make up a history and then you can work out the rest on your own. It’s a starting point -- not a commitment. And you’ve got time to think about it.”

“Time,” Kon repeated. “Which we could be putting to better use right now.”

There it was. “Really.”

“Really.” And if Kon sounded amused, the arm he slid around Tim just felt right. Uncomplicated. “You wanted me to remember? I did. And I did some thinking of my own--”

Tim was pretty sure that this did not qualify as ‘thinking’, but Kon’s tongue was pretty insistent, and feeling his pleased hum as Tim kissed back was new and interesting and something Tim was reasonably sure he wanted more of.

Later.

“Hey--”

“That’s not thinking.”

“You really want to get into semantics here?”

Tim thought he could hear a note of hurt beneath the annoyance, and settled his own arm around Kon to squeeze even as he handed him the swimming togs. “Arguing semantics with you is not top of my list of things to do today.” And then seriously, “I do want to. But I don’t want to be a distraction.” Looking to see if Kon got the distinction, Tim caught Kon’s expression. Instantly he felt like he’d exposed more of himself than he’d meant. “That is--”

“Cool. But weird. Which I’m getting is your thing, so--” Tim didn’t feel bad about poking Kon with his elbow because he obviously deserved it. “I’m guessing that swimming is top of this list of yours?”

“At the moment.” Tim dug his own shorts out of his beach house bedroom drawer. “I’m guessing it’s your first time?”

“Yeah, but I figure I remember how to do it.”

It wasn’t the first time Kon had used remember to describe things he’d never done. “Artificial memories?”

Kon apparently had no problems getting changed in the middle of Tim’s bedroom, and Tim hastily disappeared into the ensuite bathroom, leaving the door open a crack for Kon’s reply. “They wanted my mind to develop with my body, so they fed me knowledge in the tank. A lot of it was from Jim ... Training and fighting and that. But Serl was pretty insistent I got an education equivalent to that of an ordinary teenager too. And the entirety of _Friends_ and _Ally McBeal_ ... I’m pretty sure at that point she just wanted someone to talk to.”

It was hard to wrap his head around the fact that Serling had _made_ Kon. “Do you miss her?”

“No. Well, yes, but it’s not like I didn’t go off on mining trips without them. We’re used to being apart.”

Tim judged it safe to stick his head out of the bathroom. “This is a different kind of apart.”

Kon raised an eyebrow at him, and Tim wondered why it was that he’d seen Jason wearing those same swim shorts and barely thought twice about it, but Kon was really making him reconsider the distraction thing. “The planet-wide manhunt kinda brought that home, yeah. But I’m hoping that by the time reality kicks in and the panic hits, I will be acclimatised enough to know what I’m doing.”

“You’ve planned your panic attacks?”

Kon scoffed, following Tim downstairs. “No. That would be weird.” A pause. “Is that what you do?” 

Kon turned out to enjoy swimming exactly as much as Tim had thought he would -- a lot. Though it was hard to say whether it was the coolness and buoyancy of the water, or the deliciously lazy feeling of the sun’s heat drying their skin. Tim sat with his legs over the side of his deck chair, laptop on his knees, while Kon was fully stretched out on his deck chair for maximum sun exposure. Tim had pulled on a shirt and sunglasses immediately after getting out of the water, but Kon had declined sunscreen.

“Don’t need it. I mean, okay, raised in a cave, I know you’re right to mention sunburn but -- I’m pretty sure the sun’s not going to hurt me. It just feels really -- good. Though if you need a hand applying yours--”

It was good to know that they could pick that up -- whatever that was -- as easily as they could the conversation.

“The sun’s radiation reacts with your Kryptonian cells to power your meta-abilities. They were always there, just latent until exposure triggered them -- that’s not applying sunscreen, Kon.”

It was possibly for the best that it was about then the burgers arrived.

“Well?”

“Okay, yeah. A lot better than rat. But I don’t know. There’s something lacking ... maybe it’s the thrill of not knowing what you’re going to bite into next -- I’m joking.”

“Good. Because never kissing you again would suck.”

Tim enjoyed the note of challenge in Kon’s smirk, especially when Kon’s eyes dropped to Tim’s mouth. It was a palpable heat, not that unlike the sun on his shoulders, but it seemed to reach all the way in. Tim reminded himself that he was a capable operative of the Batman, and was not going to blush.

However, instead of teasing Tim’s resolution, Kon surprised him. “So -- Conner, you said?”

“Yeah.” And Dick and Jason, even Stephanie would have teased him mercilessly for bringing his laptop with him to the beach, but Tim was able to bring up the profile he’d started crafting immediately, and Kon shifted to sit beside him to look at it. “From Metropolis. Lived with various relatives growing up and changed schools often -- that will explain the discrepancies in your education. The rest of it depends -- do you want to go to school?”

“I dunno if education’s really my thing. I mean -- I just got there. I want to see the place. I don’t want to be cooped up in some stuffy classroom.”

A classroom was hardly the same as the caverns but Tim nodded slowly. He could understand not wanting to be tied down. “I can set you up with a high school diploma, tax number and bank account. That’s enough that you can find casual jobs, work out what you want to do.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad.” Kon leaned back, having seen enough of the computer. “What do you do? Besides the -- you know.”

“I’m a student. High school. Graduating in a few months.”

From Kon’s expression, he was having a hard time picturing Tim as a school kid. “Then what?”

Tim shrugged. “Not actually sure. There’s college, military service or taking on a more prominent position within the Wayne Enterprises.” Any of them allowed ample opportunity for casework.

“Yeah? Figured you’d have it all planned.”

“My weird tendencies only go so far.”

“It’s cool. In a way -- it’s kind of nice to know that I’m not the only one unsure right now.”

Tim snorted. “No. Pretty much all my classmates are freaking out right now. This -- is normal.” Though granted, if any of his classmates had to mask previously untested meta-abilities and were attempting to blend into a society they were not fully prepared for, it was news to him.

“Normal,” Kon repeated, his tone indicating his thoughts were following Tim’s. “So -- just putting this out there, but I’m not currently distracted.”

“No?” Tim shut his laptop, setting it down.

“Mm.” Kon took this as invitation to let his fingers rest on the small of Tim’s back, warm even through the cloth of Tim’s shirt. “Need some time to think still of course.”

“That’s still not thinking,” Tim pointed out, letting his arm rest on Kon’s shoulder and revelling in the thrill as Kon shifted to let Tim rest more fully against him. “But we have five days.”

Kon’s smile glittered, leaning in to--

The flutter of the cloak was suddenly there, hanging in the air behind him and Tim froze. Of all the times to be without his belt.

Kon scrambled to his feet the same moment Tim did, expression closed, guarded, wary and Tim was really going to let Bruce know what he thought about this. Once his heart rate returned to normal, however, and Tim took a moment to steady himself, make sure his surprise wasn’t too evident before turning around.

The unrelenting gaze might have been carved out of rock. It held the weight of centuries, was absolute in its single-mindedness and was focused, not on Tim, but on Kon. The Kryptonian was floating less than a metre away from them, watching with an intensity that was more than a little alarming.

This close the resemblance was unmistakable.

Tim silently gathered himself together, drawing his mental cloak around him and grateful for his sunglasses. The Kryptonian had levelled entire cities, but his attitude did not seem threatening now. Stern, possibly angry, but held in check -- then again, he was notoriously difficult to read. If he decided to attack there would be little Tim could do. Kon--

Kon had somehow developed the ability to put up a pretty good wall. He was returning the gaze, and if it lacked the weight or authority of his Original’s, it still was enough to give most people pause.

The Kryptonian wasn’t most people. He wasn’t even people.

Even though Tim was pretty used to taking on the impossible by himself, he was very glad when a purposeful tread on the sand indicated that he was not alone. Batman, Nightwing with him, and Tim crossed the sand to their side without a word.

The Kryptonian was on record for not being impressed with humanity. Only three people could consistently get a response from him. Fortunately, Bruce was one of those three.

“I wasn’t aware the League judged the situation serious enough to enter Gotham.”

The Kryptonian lowered his head slightly. “This is a personal matter. We won’t be here long.”

We--?

Tim clamped down on his reaction, but Kon was surprised into speech.

“We?” 

“You may tell your people to have no fear. Kon-El will return with me.” The Kryptonian inclined his head to Bruce again before looking back to Kon. “Keep up.” And then he was gone, leaving Kon only enough time to grimace at Tim before plunging after him.

“That was four sentences. You think we’re growing on him?”

Tim didn’t respond to Dick, more concerned about Bruce’s silence. “I --”

“You weren’t prepared,” Bruce said. “Always keep your belt on you when metas are involved. No exceptions.”

Tim was stung. “Kon regards me as a friend,” he said. “He’s not going to hurt me--”

“He may not -- intentionally, at least. But things have a tendency to get complicated where metas are concerned.” Bruce’s loom was equal to that of the Kryptonian. Maybe even worse, because years of exposure had not diminished it in any way. “As you saw today.”

There was no denying that Bruce had a point.

The Batman continued. “We became aware of the Kryptonian’s presence in the Gotham atmosphere about two hours ago. He drifted above the city for approximately 45 minutes before moving. We could not track his progress, but I was pretty sure of his eventual destination.” He paused again. “It’s likely that he remembered your voice from the meeting, and was listening for it.”

That was -- decidedly unnerving. “He was listening for us from the city.”

“It won’t happen again,” Bruce assured him. “I’ll speak to the League. Once I have notified the Press that the meta-human is found, and got the Kryptonite from the vault. You’ll be carrying some from now on.”

“But you just said--”

“The clone will undoubtedly be back within the month. When he returns, it will most likely be to find you.” Batman turned. His departure was not as showy as the Kryptonian’s but just as final.

“Congratulations,” Dick said, tugging off his mask. “I think that may have been approval.”

“Not in the mood.” Tim sized up the removal of the mask. “You’re not going with him?”

“Thought I’d stay, see that your vacation wasn’t a complete wash out.” Dick patted Tim’s shoulder. “This was all on purpose, wasn’t it? The time off, the sudden media interest.”

“It was on purpose.” Tim retrieved his laptop and began to walk towards the beach house. “You don’t need to stay. I’ll head back tomorrow anyway.”

“See, that’s what I thought you’d say. No, you’ve got five days of vacation left, and I’m going to see that you enjoy them.” Dick followed Tim towards the house. “The Kryptonian didn’t walk in on you guys making out, did he?”

It was going to be a long five days.


	3. Mixed Messages.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things take a turn for the decidedly immature and Steph takes all the vicarious pleasure she can. 
> 
> Gratuitious junk food, property damage and bat-parenting.

In the end, it was only a long two days at the beach house. The Kryptonian’s interference, as unnecessary and officious as Tim considered it, soothed the Media alarm surrounding Kon’s appearance, but questions remained about the courtroom attack. Oracle had requested Dick’s help looking into the loose ends AGENDA had left behind -- obviously responsible for manufacturing the android, but everyone high up enough in the organization to have knowledge of it had gone silent. When the mechanic known to have developed the technology used in the android’s re-assembling arm turned up dead, the family got to work with the focus for which they were renowned.

Tim picked up Dick and Jason’s patrols in addition to his own. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to fill in, but Steph hadn’t been avoiding him the other times.

Two days had been enough time for Tim to come to some conclusions. The first was that moping wasn’t really Tim’s thing. Sure, it was frustrating that Kon had disappeared just as Tim had been coming to a decision about where he stood with him -- or where he wanted to stand. They’d not really talked about it in so many words, and if Tim dwelt on that any further he was going to second guess himself into doubt. Bruce was right -- Kon would be back. Knowing that made it somewhat easier to put the unknown on hold, wait it out.

The second conclusion was that Tim needed to clear up some misunderstandings before he inadvertently proved Dick right. Replicating Bruce’s personal life was not on his list, and the fact that Cass agreed to switch patrol routes with him without even a head-tilt of enquiry showed that this was long overdue.

Obvious to everyone but him? It was not an altogether welcome thought, and Tim preferred to concentrate on gauging his trajectory, and connecting with enough force to stun, but not to injure.

“Mind if I join you?”

Steph snorted, taking out one of the gang members with a jump kick that Tim could not remember seeing her use before. “Sure you wouldn’t rather be on patrol with Analise Costa?”

She’d been training over-time. Probably with Cass. Which meant that Cass had already heard Steph’s side of this -- whatever this was -- more than once. Tim definitely should have acted sooner. “Analise Costa can’t kick like that.” Tim punctuated that statement with a kick of his own that connected with the ribs of the muscled teen with the gun with a satisfying crunch.

The gun slid from the teen’s grasp and Steph trapped it under her heel as she expertly blocked the bulky guy in the red t-shirt from scrambling after it. “Ha! So you admit I’m good at something?”

Tim was grateful for the side-swipe he had to duck to avoid. Bringing his elbow up to connect with would-be-attacker, using that moment to throw him -- that was automatic. Practiced. Familiar. This conversation? None of these things. “You’re good at a lot of things.”

“But not as good as I should be right?” And Tim didn’t see that hit but he heard it, suddenly very sorry for the youths who’d thought tonight would be the night to expand their territory.

“That’s nowhere close to what I meant--”

“You don’t have to spell it out, geez! I can take a hint -- maybe I wasn’t trained by the Batman but that doesn’t mean--” She was clearly on a roll, and Tim came to momentary halt, wondering if it was too late to just call it a night and go back to the Tower.

“Chicks, man.” The bearded guy shrugged, and they watched Steph drop-kick a third goon before abruptly remembering they were in the middle of the something.

Fortunately, disarming and tying up the remaining gang members gave Steph the chance to vent her anger, and Tim more than ample time to question his life choices. He’d come to the conclusion that somewhere along the way he’d passed the line from ‘complicated’ to ‘insane’ but since he was there, he couldn’t very well make things worse.

Hopefully.

“Done?”

Steph glowered at him, and Tim held up his hands defensively. “I surrender.”

“Don’t tempt me, bird-boy.” Steph aimed her grappling hook at a passing hovercraft and was gone, Tim trailing her a vehicle later.

He caught up to her on the top of the Dent Tower. “I’m sorry. I know we don’t talk as much as we did, but I didn’t realize you thought I was judging you.”

Steph shrugged. She wasn’t looking at him, but it wasn’t as though he could have discerned anything beneath the mask that wasn’t already visible in the tension of her shoulders, or that hands folded across her chest. “Yeah, well. It’s cool.” And why did everyone insist on telling him it was cool when it so obviously wasn’t? “I mean, it’s not like I don’t get it. You must be so fast, and defeat so many bad guys in under three minutes if you want to date Robin, right?”

“Uh -- what?”

“And it’s not like it doesn’t make sense. I mean,” And Steph’s shoulders hunched and Tim realized with a sinking feeling that she was absolutely serious. “We all know what happened and yes that sucked, and no one’s sorrier than me, so if you need to wait and be sure that I’m not going to die on you, then fine, I will wait however long it takes and pass whatever girlfriend test is necessary--”

His life. “That’s -- not really necessary.”

Stephanie sighed, turning to offer him a rueful smile. “Yeah, it’s freakish and weird and more than a little sad, but it’s you. So, I don’t mind. As long as it takes.”

Tim winced. “I thought you wanted space. To be more independant.”

She stared at him. “So the girlfriend test--no?”

Tim shook his head.

“Oh my god. I just -- augh. Oh. God. And -- none of that?”

“None of that.”

“Oh god. I’m such an idiot. I--” Steph’s shoulders sagged in a way that would have been comical if it hadn’t been his fault. “Can we pretend this conversation never happened?”

“One condition. Can we go back to being friends first?”

They wound up sipping take-out milkshakes on the roof of a retro-style diner, still in masks and trying to ignore the patrons who were trying to ignore them.

“I hadn’t really thought about it,” Tim tried to explain. “I guess I just thought it would happen when it was time and the fact that nothing had happened -- well, I didn’t realize it was a problem.”

“And then something happened to change that -- you met someone?” Steph had decided that friendship came with a free pass to Tim’s personal life, and Tim was relieved to be able to talk. “Tell me it wasn’t Analise Costa.”

“It was not Analise Costa.”

“Good.” Steph paused. “Oracle? Batgirl?”

“Not Oracle or Batgirl. Anyway, it’s not really who as much as the realization--”

“Catwoman? Ivy? It doesn’t count if it’s Ivy, her toxins--”

“I’ve been immunized. It’s not Ivy. The realization that--”

“Nightwing?”

Tim choked on his milkshake.

“He’s like my brother!” He protested once his airways were clear and Steph was done thumping him on the back. “I -- a brother!”

Steph was entirely unrepentant. “Your incredibly hot, flexible, charming and not-actually-related-to-you-in-any-way brother. And you know, to some people, the brother thing would be added turn-on.”

Tim glowered at her sourly. “It’s not Nightwing.”

“So you say.” Steph repented, digging a cloth out of her belt to join Tim in trying to clean himself up. “But just for the record, I will be fine with whatever freak of nature finally managed to get a rise out of you.”

“You’re dealing with this very well.”

“It all seems so obvious in retrospect. I mean, you, freakish of all the Robins, me, comparatively normal young woman in a mask. At this point, I’m just curious to know who--”

“No.”

“--and derive whatever other pleasure I can from your misery. Aren’t you glad we’re friends?”

“So glad.” And even more grateful to the siren wail that split the Gotham night. Tim had his grapple line in hand instantly, half-finished milkshake abandoned. Though as he caught the laugh as Steph followed him through the air, he couldn’t help but feel lighter than he had since the Kryptonian had departed with Kon in tow.

This change did not go unnoticed. Of course not. Tim lived in the company of some of the best spies in the known universe. Fortunately, Gotham’s criminal population did not take well to being upstaged in the media and for every article following the Kryptonian’s action (and there were many, the upsurge in media interest surrounding him seemed to be matched by an increase in his appearances on the planet Metropolis) there was another detailing some colourfully twisted criminal plan.

The majority of them never got far beyond the planning stage, but even so the Family was kept busy enough that commentary on Steph and Tim’s renewed friendship didn’t go much further than smirks from Cass and Dick and a couple of crude digs from Jason. Steph had dropped her questions and settled back into their old pattern of equal parts friendship and competitiveness and Tim had been on the point of relaxing.

It was early into the night, free for the first time that week of any pressing emergencies. Tim had stopped one mugging from taking place and he and Steph had put the fear of god into a burglary gang and seen off another mugger and they were burning off some excess adrenalin with a game of tag (‘training’ if anyone asked). One moment Tim was swinging through the air, enjoying the feeling of the breeze, anticipating the moment at the peak of his trajectory where it felt for a second as if he simply floated in the air--

And then suddenly he was nose deep in wall.

Woah, Tim thought dazedly. Didn’t even see that coming--

The wall’s stubble was pressing into Tim’s forehead. Tim paused, realizing that that in addition to stubble, the wall also had arms which were locked around him, while Tim’s feet dangled freely in the air. He couldn’t really move his own arms or crane his neck to see, but he could raise one gauntleted hand to pat the side of the form pressed against his body, and hear a familiar voice groan in response.

“Everything okay, Kon?”

“He doesn’t eat. Doesn’t eat! How am I supposed to live with a guy who doesn’t eat? Or sleep -- It’s like he’s not human at all! ... Which he isn’t so I guess that explains it but still! You have no idea--”

The communicator in Tim’s mask hummed. “Robin. The Kryptonian stopped by to talk. His ward may seek you out.”

Tim nudged Kon with his knee, wriggled an arm free to tap the reply function. “Understood. If he finds me?”

“See that he is occupied.” 

“Acknowledged.” Tim cut the feed.

Kon relaxed his hold on Tim enough to look at him. “Occupied? I like the sound of that.” Tim ignored the leer, planting a hand firmly on Kon’s chest, swinging his legs up and using him as a springboard to flip neatly out of the way.

“He’d have said ‘out of trouble’ or ‘contained’ but your guardian was there.” Tim landed easily on the ground and looked up.

Kon hovered in place, the flickering streetlight catching the blueness of his eyes and the smoothness of his grin, and Tim smiled back unthinkingly. Obnoxious, insufferable, and very welcome. But the smile froze and something twisted in his chest as Kon landed. There was a very natural quality about the extremely unnatural action of flying and landing, only cemented by the golden symbol now visible on Kon’s chest.

“‘Contained.’ He doesn’t go on a lot of dates, huh.” Kon frowned as his statement was met with silence. “Robin?”

Tim stretched out a hand to rest on the S-insignia. Sleek and thin, he could feel the startled breath Kon took beneath his hand, Kon’s warmth.

“Um, hi? Should I have called first?”

Somehow that warmth was reassuring. “No need.Though if you’re going to make this a regular thing, then I’ll need to tap into Gotham’s external satellite ring more often--”

There was a slight thud in the street behind Kon. Steph had slowed to a halt as soon as she’d realized Tim had been interrupted. She dropped gracefully from an overhanging traffic bridge, smirking loudly.

Tim retrieved his hand. “So. Dinner?”

At that time of night, no one in Gotham asked questions. The three of them got a table at a nearby diner, Tim and Steph in mask and costume on one side of the table, Kon eye-searingly bright in red and blue on the other, while the other patrons avoided eye-contact and the waitress didn’t even bat an eyelid at their order.

Kon, however--

“This burger is the single greatest thing that has happened to me all week. I swear it.” 

The waitress gave him a flatly dubious look as she placed their pizza and sodas on the table. At forty-odd, bright eyeshadow and lipstick not masking her complete lack of enthusiasm, she had the attitude of someone who had seen it all. Being from Gotham, she probably had. “Kid, I don’t know how bad your week has been, but you gotta get some better standards. Fast.”

“I’ll settle for another burger?”

The waitress looked to Tim. With true Gotham instinct she had identified him as the one carrying the cheque.

Tim nodded.

“You’re the best, man! No onions, extra bacon.”

“Cheeseburger for me -- no tomato.”

Tim tilted his head to look and Steph. She smiled shamelessly, picking up her soda. “I know I’m kind of crashing your date here, but watching Clone boy inhale his burger’s making me hungry.”

“Spoiler’s not dumb. You should get with the programme, Rob. Try one.”

Tim tried to ignore the grease running down Kon’s fingers, just be grateful that he’d easily picked up the use of codenames with masks. “I’ll pass. I have a sandwich coming.”

“Live a little, Wonder boy! Seriously!” Steph stabbed a finger toward the burger. “That just screams emergency bypass surgery--”

“Hey, no stealing! You’ve got your own on the way!”

Tim waited until they’d demolished most of the pizza, the garlic toast and Kon was almost finished his second burger before broaching the question that had been bothering him. “So--”

“Robin, you have to try this. I swear I can feel my arteries clogging but it’s so bad it’s good. No -- great!”

“See? Totally called it.”

Tim edged along the seat away from Steph and the doom-burger. “Fun as this is, the Kryptonian didn’t drop you off here for a play-date. What’s going on?”

“Dunno.” Kon shrugged, letting the burger rest on his plate. “He wouldn’t tell me -- just acted like it was all important and stuff. The Batman didn’t call him?”

“The Batman doesn’t tell us everything,” Tim allowed carefully, ignoring Steph’s snort. “But I’m pretty sure he’d have said something if he’d been expecting you two.”

“And probably wouldn’t have kept us waiting beyond the atmosphere for ten minutes if he had.”

“Waiting?”

“Yeah, we stopped by one of the security satellites for clearance -- that’s not usual?”

“Don’t know what he’s like with you, but the Kryptonian’s kind of known for not waiting for permission to enter airspace.”

“Spoiler’s right -- suggesting that whatever he wanted to talk to the Batman about is serious enough that he wants to get off on the right foot.” Tim steepled his gloved fingers together, leaned into them. “The media reports suggest he’s been more active lately -- something happening in Metropolis?”

“He’s gone a lot, but I don’t know if that’s normal. Kara seems to--” Kon caught himself.

“Kara?”

Kon winced. “Let’s just leave it at that for a supposedly dead and totally uninhabited planet, Krypton’s really crowded. But yeah. I’ve only been to Metropolis the once and that was to meet Luthor and get checked out at S.T.A.R.”

“Luthor?”

“Yeah. Big guy said it was to make sure I hadn’t picked up any ‘human parasites’ while in the caverns -- turns out I am totally free of fleas, lice, STDs, scurvey and Tekka’s occasional involuntary dosing of fish liver oil managed to ward off vitamin D deficiency too. As an added bonus, they think that it was being in the caverns away from solar energy that kept my metabolism locked at the age I got out of the tank and now I’m out I’m going to age naturally. Well, as naturally as possible in the circumstances, circumstances being living on Krypton. Did I mention that I’m living on the dead planet? Because it really is. Dead, I mean. The planet part should be obvious.”

“I -- don’t even know where to start.” There was just so much wrong that -- where did you begin?

The fact that one of the most dangerous and ruthlessly intelligent men in the universe had invited the Kryptonian to avail himself of his laboratories and the Kryptonian, dangerous, implacable, unstoppable force in himself had agreed?

Maybe the part where Kon had just implied that the Kryptonian was concealing the existence of others of his race?

Or even the part where Kon had revealed that he’d been trapped at his current age for all his life and not thought to mention it to Tim before now?

... naturally, Tim had been aware of the fact since he’d hacked every single file he could find on Kon’s development or the CADMUS trial, but all that existed were the bare bones, everything relating to Kon’s creation process deleted by Serling before their attempt at smuggling him out of CADMUS had gone so disastrously wrong. But even so, it was the thought that counted.

It was definitely not the part where Kon had worked being STD free into a conversation that had taken place in front of Steph. Tim could practically feel the look she was giving him, and was really hoping that he was not blushing anywhere not covered by the mask. “Lex Luthor. Powerful business tycoon, recently announced plans to run for president of Metropolis?”

“That’s the one.”

“What’s the Kryptonian doing hanging around with him?”

“This is news?” Kon shrugged at the look they gave him, freeing a slice of pizza from it’s cheese lifeline. “It’s just they have this vibe -- like they’ve got a history. Not friendly exactly, but mutual respect. I’m not imagining that, right?”

“No, there’s -- definitely history there. Not all of it good. Luthor’s a human-supremacist, on record for doubting the need for maintaining the treaty with the Kryptonian signed by Metropolis’ founders centuries ago.”

“While the Kryptonian’s kind of big on the treaty being kept down to the last letter. Yeah, I can see that. Luthor’s not -- awed by the Kryptonian, and I think he appreciates that. In a weird kind of--” Kon waved his hands in a helpless way, almost losing the remaining toppings of his half-eaten pizza slice in the process. “-- _alien_ way.”

Tim was beginning to sense a theme here. “You doing okay?”

“Fine. Better than fine. I am doing fan-fucking-tastic.”

“Because if you needed to talk--”

“What’s there to talk about? It’s not like CADMUS needed to understand the Kryptonian to clone him, right? Nope, just throw a few genes in a petri dish, shake well and leave to mature. Yeah, good luck with that one.” Kon folded his arms on the table, pizza forgotten. “And okay, so you’d think five years of being a phenomenal disappointment to all and sundry would kind of have prepared me for this a little, but it’s a lot weirder when you don’t even know what the expectations you’re disappointing are.”

“Expectations? He’s as new to this as you are,” Tim pointed out. “Newer. You knew he existed. He, on the other hand--”

“I’m pretty sure he knew,” Kon said. “Yeah. How fucked up is that?”

Tim sat up straighter. “You’re sure of that? Because if so, then what you’re implying is--”

“Extremely fucked up. Yeah, I have had a lot of time to reflect on that. Not much else to do to pass time on the dead planet.”

“Which is extremely dead,” Steph provided helpfully. “You might have mentioned.”

Kon eyed her. “Right. Anyway. Pretty sure that it’s no coincidence that the name assigned to my project batch is not only Kryptonian but belonged to one of his cousins. A cousin who died making sure that the Kryptonian survived.”

“It might be coincidence,” Tim said slowly. “But it’s definitely worth looking into.” Hopefully avoiding any interplanetary incidents in the process. “Sounds like you’ve done quite a bit of research already.”

To his surprise Kon glowered. “Not on purpose. I was looking for the john. And how messed up is that? Even the freaking doors are alien--”

“Tell me later.” Tim motioned Kon to hold the thought, putting a hand to his mask and the transmitter built in. Next to him, Stephanie was doing the same. “Red Hood’s put an alert out.”

Jason’s reports were notoriously brief. This one was no different.

_“Some moron with some jacked-up tech eluded police custody while being transferred from the Courthouse to the Penitentiary. The kids can handle him. I’m not breaking cover.”_

“‘The kids’ … Just what will it take for him to take us seriously?” Steph complained as she followed Tim, springboarding from hovercraft to hovercraft, cutting across buildings to quickly navigate the maze that was Gotham.

“No mention of Nightwing babysitting. That’s him taking us seriously.” Tim was meanwhile running through his mental files on the remaining penal colony convicts awaiting processing.

“Hey. Guy with super-strength and flying here.” Kon coasted along above them. “Not even trying hard. I could take both of you, get you there faster--”

“Batman’s rules. No meta-powers in Gotham.” Tim led them under a pedestrian bridge, waited until they were out the other side, pulling up to one of Gotham’s main streets and scanning for any sign of disturbances.

“Also you were bitching about not knowing how to use your powers over dinner,” Steph pointed out, coming to a halt beside Tim.

“I said I didn’t know how they worked. Not how to work ‘em.” Kon hovered moodily above them, shoulders hunched. “Also, you may be intrigued to learn that there’s a lot of excitement happening--”

“Three blocks south,” Tim said, catching the police radio. “Kon, you’re strictly back-up only. Get any civilians clear of the scene, and then hang back. Don’t engage with our target. Don’t engage with any civilians or police officials. Got that?”

“No flirting on our date. Check.” With what looked like effortless grace, Kon increased his speed, pulling ahead of them and becoming lost in the night.

Annoyed. Tim frowned, trying not to worry about that and focus on the task at hand. “This is an unknown. Follow my lead,” he cautioned Steph.

“Is he going to come to family dinners? Please say you’re bringing him to family dinners.”

“Probable code-C in crowded urban location,” Tim reminded her crisply.

“You lead, me following, I know. I’m just saying, you have to bring him. The Batman’s expressions alone--”

They reached the scene of the disturbance, swooping out of the shadows to land neatly on the upturned prison van. The four-lane road was sprinkled with shattered windshield glass, assorted car parts and wrecked cars, some of which had been tipped on to their sides, forming a blockade of sorts around their target.

Kon was not in sight, but neither were any civilians or police officers, indicating that despite his grievances, he’d followed Tim’s orders. The target was cautiously drawing himself up, working out the reason for the sudden silence. He was a heavily built man, with long shaggy hair, and had taken the time to tear the sleeves off his prison jumpsuit. One arm was outfitted with a massive metal shell, and more metal was visible beneath his white prison regulation t-shirt. The man smirked as he spotted Tim and Steph.

“This it? Thought I made it clear I was only interested in the big time.”

“Big time?” Steph snorted, readying a batarang. “Typical guy. Size is always the first thing they think of--”

“Sidearm’s got known issues in the size department, fact. I know, I’ve seen it.” Kon touched down on the upturned truck next to Tim, casually as if he hadn’t just provided the most unwanted mental image ever. “Area cleared, so I figured I’d just kind of hang out here, twiddling my thumbs.”

“Sidearm?” Tim tried to ignore Steph choking. It was coming together now. “Stole experimental tech from facility where he was employed as a lay-mechanic. By the time he was caught, the tech was embedded in him in a symbiotic relationship that made disarming it without killing him impossible. In addition to theft, he’s wanted for extortion, aggravated assault -- expected to be transferred to Belle Reve.”

“Expected to! See? Even the bird boy agrees. Belle Reve’s nothing less than my due. Instead what do I get? A recommendation for freaking rehabilitation at the Penitentiary--”

“That’s your damage? Getting off lightly?”

“Don’t engage, Kon.”

“Who’s engaging? I’m not engaging. Look -- hands behind my back and everything.”

“Don’t mock me, freak.” A metallic grappling claw snaked out, latching onto Kon and jerking him forward so that he was slammed face first into the asphalt. “Think you can take me with your hands tied? You’re kidding yourself.”

That was an opening. Tim took it.

“Don’t even think about it,” he cautioned Kon, diving straight at Sidearm. The man saw him coming, but couldn’t retract his grappling claw in time and Tim caught him full on the chest with his armoured boot. He landed lightly to the man’s right, making the most of his momentum with a blow to the back, as Steph followed up with another precision kick to Sidearm’s front.

Sidearm staggered back, but the technology that gave him his nickname also served to protect him from the full force of their blows. He reacted a moment too slowly, lashing out at Steph with his mechanical arm, grappling hook replaced by a nasty looking serrated saw.

Steph danced back out of the way, allowing Tim to snake Sidearm’s legs out from underneath him with another stealth kick. The man stumbled, so preoccupied with keeping his balance that he never saw the batarang that Steph threw. It bounced off Sidearm’s chest before exploding in a surge of rope, locking his arms to his sides.

Tim took advantage of the temporary respite to draw his staff, glance over to where Kon was sourly dusting himself off. “Rope, Spoiler?”

Even in full mask and costume, Steph looked embarrassed. “In my defence, the batarangs all look the same—“

There was a smooth metallic click. Tim glanced back to see smooth blade edges slide out of Sidearm’s metal appendages. The rope fell unimpeded to the ground as he sneered. “You’re wasting my time. Told you, I’m looking to hit the big time.”

“Or just get hit big time.”

Sidearm snarled, attention on Kon. “By who? You, Kid? Without the Cannon backing you up, you’re nothing.”

Tim took advantage of this distraction to move, circling, signalling to Spoiler to fall back, cover him. Problem. Steph was watching the developing spat and not him.

“The media of an entire planet and a tall guy in a red cape would disagree with you there, Sideburn.”

“Fancy powers don’t change the fact you’re all talk. What are you hanging back for? Let’s see what Guardian died to protect--”

Tim glanced reflexively to Kon, saw his expression lock down. Sidearm had got to him. “Spoiler! Cover me.”

Bruce warned them about letting their emotions interfere with their ability to think and reason, but there was something very satisfactory in the grunt as Sidearm met the end of Tim’s staff, and Tim’s anger took the edge of the burn as he took a quick dive to dodge the serrated saw, met the concrete a little too hard. Steph followed up with a barrage of the small explosive batarangs and Sidearm staggered back, choking on the smoke and the shock. Tim readied his staff, watching as Sidearm rested an arm on an upturned car to steady himself. Another pass should do it--

“I don’t think you kids are listening.” There was a screech of shifting metal, and the last of the smoke cleared to reveal Sidearm hefting the upturned car. “I said ‘big time.”

“Woah.” Spoiler scrambled to a halt behind Tim. “Did you know he could do that?”

“Fall back,” Tim said, retracting his staff. “Range weapons--” There was only time to dive, hope he’d got enough momentum to carry him out of the way as the car was thrown directly at them.

There was a rush of air over his head followed by a screech of metal. Tim rolled to a halt, a sinking feeling in his stomach. That had been from the wrong direction--

Kon had caught the car on the full, holding it easily. There was a hardness in his eyes that Tim definitely had misgivings about. “Think big, Sidecar.”

“Don’t--”

The car was sent flying back, catching Sidearm squarely in the chest and sending him sprawling as the car smashed into another still car. Glass littered the surrounding area, and Tim brought up his cape to shield himself.

“Want to tell me I’m all talk again?”

With a snarl, Sidearm pulled himself to his feet and flung himself at Kon. Another car became an innocent victim to their brawling, while a third exploded on impact with a nearby building. Tim and Steph were able to extinguish it, but the time that took kept them from preventing Kon from wrapping a street lamp pole around Sidearm.

“We need to have a serious talk about damage control,” Steph observed, looking over the scene.

“We need to have a serious talk about not getting involved,” Tim said, arms folded. “Our turf. We had this.”

“Yeah, don’t thank me for helping you out at all. You guys were in trouble--”

“From him? Hardly. It might have taken us longer but you had no call stepping in--”

“No call? You heard what he said about Jim--”

“I heard. That doesn’t mean that you can just jump in. This is Gotham--” Tim heard the tell-tale cape flutter a moment too late.

“Indeed,” Batman said, the Kryptonian hovering behind him, looming like a low-hanging thundercloud. “Let’s discuss this somewhere more private.”

Batman could do angry without raising his voice. The dressing down that Tim and Steph got on a nearby rooftop was as efficient as it was brief. “You allowed yourselves to be distracted. You made mistakes that you should not have and you failed to control the situation,” he finished. “Spoiler. You’ll be patrolling with Red Hood until I say otherwise.” Ignoring Steph’s dismayed exclamation, the Batman looked to Tim. “You’re off patrol, training with me.”

Tim was startled. He knew they’d done badly, but that was extreme--

On the other side of the rooftop, the Kryptonian was winding down. Kon had made the mistake of arguing with him, provoking a lecture in a harsh sounding language -- Kryptonian? Kon looked more mutinous than repentant, and he was avoiding looking at Tim.

“We will go,” the Kryptonian announced, looking to Batman. “I regret our visit has inconvenienced you.”

Batman nodded. “Before you do,” he said, tone even. “I believe the Knights play the Sharks Thursday. Should be an interesting match.”

The Kryptonian paused to look coldly at him, clearly not catching the reference. Tim had to admit he was mystified himself. What in the planets … ?

Incredibly it was Kon who answered. “With Keats gone?” He asked hesitantly, glancing at the Kryptonian. “I dunno. Word in Metropolis is that the new coach is doing wonders with the rookies. They held their own in Steel City last week.”

“True,” Batman conceded and Tim heard Steph shift closer to him – probably seeking reassurance. Batman being polite was … weird. “But Gotham’s also got an unknown.”

“The mystery pitcher the Knights shelled out big time for? Yeah, everyone’s gonna be watching. All that pressure on a new guy’s will be rough for sure—“ And Kon abruptly remembered that he was in disgrace. “Um. It’ll be an interesting match for sure. Sir.”

“I hope so.” Batman inclined his head in clear dismissal and with a curious glance at his ward, the Kryptonian led the way up. Kon followed. Tim couldn’t even watch them go, they were that fast.

“Spoiler, you will make your own way back to the rookery. I want to talk to Robin.”

“Better you than me,” Steph murmured as she brushed past Tim, taking the opportunity to escape without hesitation.

Tim might have envied her – if he hadn’t had questions.

“What was that about?” he asked as he followed Batman over the rooftops. “Baseball?”

Batman waited until they had both bypassed a low-flying hovercraft to answer. “The Kryptonian came to me for help. I provided him with it. You are carrying the Kryptonite as ordered?”

Tim caught the reflex to put his hand to the locked pouch in his belt. “I’m carrying it.”

“You did not use it tonight.” And before Tim could muster up a defence—“Wise. I would prefer that the Kryptonian doesn’t know that you have it as long as possible. It should be a last resort only.”

“Tonight wasn’t a last resort?”

The look Batman gave him was chilling. “Tonight was a debacle. An educational debacle, drawing my attention to several shortcomings in your current regime – but a debacle nonetheless. From tomorrow, you will be working through a series of virtual training scenarios designed to equip you for meta-human and alien combat.”

Tim had had an inkling of this but it was still shocking to have it spelt out. “You’re training me to take out Kon?”

Batman spared him a sharp glance before launching himself back into the night air. “You should be prepared to take down either one of them should it become necessary.”

Tim watched Batman’s sleek silhouette disappear around the next building before aiming his own grappling line. “No pressure then.”


	4. Business as usual.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kon-El is, apparently, a teenager. Thanks for that, Batman. 
> 
> The Kryptonian takes some advice and after some thought and some breakfast, Tim does the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a quick note to say thank you to everyone who has left a comment or kudos! I really appreciate you sharing your enjoyment of or thoughts on the fic! Especially for the feedback on Steph -- it's my first time writing her, so I want to do her justice.

Batman ended the radio feed, his hand returning to his side. The slight movement did not rustle his cloak, was barely imperceptible in the shadow. Beneath the relaxed gesture, he was alert. Waiting.

The flare from the occasional launching space-shuttle outlined the roof and its inhabitants, but shied away from illuminating them. They were high enough that the hovercraft passed below them in endless lines. The Kryptonian hovered, holding himself taut and still, but the Batman did not need to see him to know that he had something on his mind.

He waited.

“It was good of you to grant me audience.”

Small talk? It had to be serious. “You’ve come a long way.” And it was a long flight, even for the Kryptonian. Longer with the clone in tow. The League Transporters would have made the journey a thing of seconds, but they would have been logged and noticed -- making this a personal call. “How is your charge adjusting?”

The Batman’s hunch had been right. “He is adjusting. Tell me, Batman. You have raised three sons that you may be proud of. How do you relate to them?”

Batman paused. He was adept at reacting to unexpected situations and at reading the subtle nuances of tone and body language even of the alien races. It was not often that he doubted the conclusions he came to, but on this occasion … the Batman was very much hoping that he was wrong. “Parenting advice?”

The Kryptonian bristled. “You have experience in these matters that I do not.”

Of all the times to be _right._ “It’s -- different. They’re all … unique young men with differing needs. I give them a purpose, teach them the discipline to achieve that purpose. Our common goals make relating to each other easier, despite our many differences.”

“Differences,” the Kryptonian repeated slowly. “There are many of those. He is … rash. Impulsive. He does not often think about his actions or words, and he is more likely to spend his time in idleness than in training or study. He is insolent, moody and--” The Kryptonian hesitated. “Strange.”

“In other words, a teenager.”

The Kryptonian glowered. “You make light of my concerns--”

“Far from it,” Batman assured him. “Humans acknowledge the teenage years as some of the most difficult for child and parent alike.”

“Kon-El is not human.”

“Maybe not,” Batman agreed carefully. “But he was raised by humans as a human until now. The sudden loss of the world he’s most familiar with has to be difficult.”

“He will learn Kryptonian ways.”

“He will. But perhaps he would learn faster with an intermediary.”

There was an audible pause. “Explain.”

“Someone already familiar and known to Kon-El, but whose greater experiences of living among aliens and meta-humans might make him both a stabilizing influence and a bridge to learning about Krypton.”

“You have someone in mind,” the Kryptonian observed. “You must know I will not countenance any human living on Krypton.”

“The Intermediary I have in mind has not been considered human for many years.”

“The Telepath,” the Kryptonian said thoughtfully. “An interesting choice.There are obvious -- disadvantages.”

“Obvious disadvantages,” the Batman agreed. “So obvious in fact, that he is not accepted by the majority of his own kind. It is likely that he would be grateful for the opportunity to be apart from mankind.”

“I will consider your words--” the Kryptonian broke off. “Kon-El is using his powers,” he said. “I forbade him their use.”

“Chances are high that Robin is with him.” Batman tapped his cowl, bringing up the GPS signal embedded in Robin’s costume on the viewer built into his cowl. “They’re close -- in the lower city.”

The Kryptonian could have been there in seconds, but he inclined his head. “Lead the way. I should like to observe your charge demonstrating what he has learnt.”

 

 

Tim had intended to look up the Gotham Knights versus Metropolitan Sharks game. However, by the time Thursday rolled around, he’d forgotten about it entirely. The new training regime wasn’t just tough. It was punishing. The first three days, Tim staggered out of the virtual reality gym only to collapse into bed.

By Friday, either Batman had relented somewhat or Tim was adjusting. Whatever the case, when he left the training room to find Dick and Jason leaning over a monitor he had to pause.

“Are you using the Tower surveillance system to watch sports?”

“Keeping up to date with the latest developments in human-Kryptonian interactions,” Jason retorted lazily. “What, you mean you haven’t seen this yet? Not like the golden boy to slack off. What have you been doing?”

“Shut it, Jason. Bruce has been pushing him hard.” Dick restarted the feed. “Clip from the Knights versus Sharks game that has gone viral. You’ll want to see this.”

Mystified, Tim joined them in front of the screen. “Neither of you even watch baseball,” he pointed out.

“It’s not the game that’s interesting. Check this out.”

The feed was from one of the large screen displays typical at sporting events. It skimmed over seated fans excitedly waving at the camera before abruptly jerking upwards to the roof of the stadium. Red cape billowing out behind him, the iconic figure of the Kryptonian was immediately recognisable. He landed on the roof, looking around him with an expression that gave nothing of his thoughts away.

Landing just a moment behind him, Kon’s good humour was immediately clear. Though lacking his original’s stature, the red and blue of his costume made the association clear, even if the S-insignia was obscured by a Sharks shirt. He’d also managed to acquire baseball cap and popcorn, which was offered to the Kryptonian as they sat on the roof.

Incredibly, the Kryptonian took it.

“This isn’t a hoax?” Tim asked even though he knew the answer already. That could only be Kon’s cocky smirk, waving a hand towards the field, evidently giving his opinion of the play.

“Totally on the record. They showed up halfway through the second innings. The Kryptonian skips out through the fifth and sixth – shuttle had to make an emergency landing, he went out to bring it in – but your boy-toy was there for the whole game.”

Tim looked at Jason with dislike. “You know you shouldn’t listen to everything Steph says.”

“Why not, when it’s so much fun?”

It was a battle Tim couldn’t win. “I’m hitting the showers.”

“You got it that bad, huh.”

“Sharks 6: Knights 5,” Dick yelled after him. “In case it comes up on your next date.”

Tim took a longer time than usual in the shower, hoping that they would be gone by the time he emerged. It worked. His brothers had retired, but Bruce was standing in front of the monitors reviewing the same footage.

Tim lingered curiously. “Did you do that on purpose?”

“Of course.” Bruce hit a button and immediately the monitors displayed a series of images. Photos assembled from a variety of surveillance cameras. Kon stepping out of the front entrance of Star Labs, in nondescript t-shirt and jeans, two men that looked very much like security with him. Kon holding up a t-shirt in a department store, elbowing one of the bodyguards as they paused in front of an electronics shop, store monitors displaying images from the Steel City match, getting into a car—

“It seems that the Kryptonian took his ward to STAR labs for a check-up,” Bruce explained. “While there, he met with Lex Luthor for several hours. In that time, Kon was allowed out, on a shopping trip. In between buying clothing, presumably to allow him to socialize on Metropolis without causing consternation, it seems he prevailed upon his minders to visit the Shark’s home stadium. Cannon is a Sharks fan.”

“I – see.”

“The files have been transferred to your databanks already. You can peruse them at your leisure.”

It was one thing to have the full weight of the Batman’s attention levelled at a criminal, quite another when it was directed at a _friend._ “Kon’s not a case! This is – this is stalking—“

“Kon-El may not be a case,” Bruce said evenly. “But his connections and as yet untrained abilities make him a person of interest. Your reluctance to take advantage of our resources is creditable, but it leaves you open to unexpected developments. If you wish to continue this – friendship – then you have to be aware that you cannot pursue it blindly.”

Tim was grateful that Bruce hadn’t used ‘relationship.’ “Isn’t teaching me how to take him out enough?”

“You will take every precaution,” Bruce told him. “If I feel you are allowing your emotions to impede your judgement, I will take steps to ensure your safety.”

“You’d forbid us from seeing each other?”

Bruce snorted. “Knowing how well that usually works on teenagers, I would prefer to avoid that. I think you would, too.”

Tim was still mulling over that when Alfred came into the kitchen to start breakfast.

“Goodness -- have you been up all night, Master Timothy?”

“Thinking,” Tim said. “I couldn’t settle. It’s all right -- Until I complete my current training, I’m not attending school, so I’ve been keeping my own hours.” He sat up, stretching suddenly stiff shoulders.

Alfred tsked as he took away the cold mug of tea in front of Tim. “There are times I wonder at Master Bruce’s priorities.”

Tim snorted, leaning over the back of his chair to watch Alfred go through the morning ritual. He made his own tea first, a cheap British-style blend that was as a thick as Gotham fog. Alfred preferred it over the numerous fine blends that he stocked for the Tower’s inhabitants and guests, and Bruce saw that a supply was imported from Alfred’s native planet. All of Bruce’s wards had developed a taste for it over conversations in the kitchen with their second father. “Only sometimes?”

Alfred started the water on the stove boiling before looking to Tim. “The Master has an odd way of showing that he cares.”

Tim winced. Even Alfred knew?

Stupid question. _Of course_ Alfred knew.

“I know that. But at the same time -- I don’t know what he’s trying to do. Make this so difficult I lose interest? Turn Kon into a chore? Or make me paranoid and suspicious so that I end up ruining the … friendship … anyway?”

“If you want my input, I believe he is trying to prepare you.” Muffins toasting, Alfred started on the steamed asparagus. “It is not easy pursuing a relationship while balancing the responsibilities you do. Things become rather more complicated when you throw in different species and inter-planetary politics.”

Tim considered this carefully. “Preparing me -- by showing me the worst?”

“Master Bruce has never sugarcoated things for the three of you. I believe he is trying to shield you from making the mistakes he did.” Alfred set the cherry tomatoes in the oven to grill, and turned to get the kettle at the very instant it started to whistle.

Tim found reassurance in precision. It was one of the reasons he always found talking to Alfred in the kitchen such a calming experience. “The mistake currently in boarding school on a different planet?”

“That is beneath you Master Timothy,” Alfred scolded, the hiss of bacon adding an angry undertone to his words. “This was before your time. A Gotham affair. He hasn’t forgotten it.”

“Does he forget anything?”

Alfred snorted, setting down cutlery in front of Tim. “Your birthdays. Eating. Sleeping. Social engagements. Medical appointments. Days off--”

“I stand corrected.” Tim sat up properly. “I don’t want to put you out--”

“You know you’re not, Master Timothy. I make my own breakfast as I go. It’s no difficulty to make two.”

It really was incredible how easily Alfred had this down. He had a poached egg on a buttered muffin and a side of asparagus and vine roasted tomatoes liberally sprinkled with salt and pepper in front of Tim even as he saw mushrooms sauteed and plates warmed for the others. Tea made, Alfred sat down opposite with steaming mugs for both of them.

Tim reached for his gratefully. “I didn’t even realize I was hungry, until I ate,” he said. “I -- is this herbal tea?”

Alfred smiled at him genially over his builder’s tea. “You’re going to bed once you’ve finished breakfast, Master Tim.”

Alfred’s mild tones were a world away from Bruce’s crisp commands, but Tim knew an order when he heard one.

 

Tim woke to long shadows cast by the setting Gotham sun and a sandwich and apple next to the water on his bedside table. He sat up slowly, wondering again at how Alfred always knew. His head was clear for the first time in days, and he felt rested and far more content than he had any right to be.

He finished the sandwich as he pulled on jeans and a hoodie, and ate the apple while pulling up all the latest developments on the remaining CADMUS labstaff on the computers in what was informally called the Cave.

As expected, Micky Cannon, Serling Roquette, Tekka and Dubbilex had all been cleared of charges, granted considerable damages and been freed. The only one still on Gotham was the DN-ALien, Dubbilex, due to the League restrictions on meta-humans travelling. Serling and Cannon had returned to their home-worlds, Star City and Metropolis respectively, and Tekka had been picked up by the nearest roving Hairy colony and effectively dropped off the radar.

All very natural. And yet--

Tim pulled up all of Lex Luthor’s public engagements.

Currently in Star City on a factory tour slash press conference for the Luthorcorp plant there -- a feasible reason to travel, but still something that Luthor could easily arrange at short notice. And before that -- Gotham, visiting one of the Luthorcorp sponsored charity programmes?

He’d be returning to Metropolis next, of course. It was his home, but even so …

Tim logged the travel request before suiting up for the virtual reality room.

He was three-quarters the way through the simulation, struggling to free himself from the Martian’s grip, and cursing himself for not seeing that coming -- the alien was able to sense him telepathically and change his form! The direction he was facing was no indication of where his interest -- or his arms -- were. Without warning, both the Martian and the hold around him vanished, and Tim found himself on the floor of the training simulation, blinking up at the sudden light.

“Metropolis,” said Bruce. He was in the costume up to his neck, the cowl bunched around his shoulders.

“Metropolis,” Tim agreed, standing. “If I leave tomorrow, I can anticipate Luthor’s visit to Cannon, find out if this is coincidence.”

Bruce nodded slightly. “I agree. It bears looking into -- but I don’t see why it has to be you that makes the trip.”

“It doesn’t have to be me,” Tim agreed. “But Dick’s working on something, Jason will say no and this isn’t Cass’ area of expertise. I’m free, can resume training the instant I return, and don’t need to be briefed on the case.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Case?”

“I don’t know that I agree entirely,” Tim said slowly. “Kon’s not a case and I don’t want to think of him as one. But if I’m right, and Luthor is pulling strings behind the scenes, then I want to know everything there is to know about it.” He paused. “And you do want me to investigate. Does it really matter why I’m doing it so long as I do it?”

Bruce snorted. “As it happens, there’s a rather special guest travelling on the shuttle to Metropolis tomorrow. The League has arranged for security, but he requested privacy so it’s low-key. Your presence would appreciated as an additional precaution, while giving you more than enough reason to travel to Metropolis.”

That sounded an awful lot like permission. “I’m going?”

“You can pack,” Bruce said. “After you’ve finished training.” He hit the resume button and instantly Tim was back to wrestling League elite.

 

Tim had been given a taster of what Dubbilex was capable of on CADMUS. It wasn’t until the shuttle ride, however, that he truly appreciated the telepath’s control.

The shuttle was crowded, filled with the usual mix of business commuters, travelling families, and miscellaneous members of the public. A more usual passenger, accompanied by 6 security staff would raise eyebrows. Dubbilex would cause active unease. And yet, while the two guards stationed at front and back of the shuttle cabin attracted curious looks, no one gave much thought to the middle-aged man in the loud Hawaiian shirt, or the two men in dark suits either side of him.

Most of that was due of course to Dubbilex’s powers of suggestion. He projected middle-aged human in terrible clothing, and the people around him accepted it. Feeling the scratch of his wig on the back of his neck, Tim had to admit to being envious -- with the extra padding he was wearing over his suit to disguise his form, his clothes were just uncomfortable enough to stop him from settling.

Still, he was pretty sure that the effectiveness of the DN-Alien’s subterfuge relied somewhat on the sheer obnoxiousness of the shirt. It seemed to actively prevent people looking at him too long. Tim had been studying it, and felt his eyes start to water -- though granted that could have been the combination of not much sleep the night before and the contacts he was wearing to disguise his eyes.

The shuttle journey passed smoothly for all concerned, Tim spending most of it in contemplation of the rest of his family’s responses should Tim suggest they adopt Dubbilex’s approach to disguise. Jason in a bright pink hibiscus print was particularly entertaining, and Tim was almost sorry when they landed.

Dubbilex cleared Metropolis security without any issues, as did Tim, courtesy of the League pass he’d been granted. Skip security and customs? Tim did not mind if he did. He had time to scout out the pick up point and select a spot to linger before Dubbilex and the guards arrived. He glanced at his watch, trying to look as though he were expecting someone to meet him. The guards didn’t give him any thought.

Dubbilex did and Tim was conscious of a slight pressure brushing against his surface thoughts. He tensed, expecting the telepath to comment -- he must remember him from the caverns. After all, he’d told Cannon that Tim’s thought patterns reminded him of someone. Yet, aside from a subtle inclination of his head, Dubbilex gave no sign of being aware of Tim.

“Mr. ... X?” A uniformed driver stepped towards Dubbilex and his retinue, glancing down at the paper in his hands. A further two guards stood by the waiting mini-van. “We’re here to pick you up.”

“I wasn’t aware the League had arranged transport?” Dubbilex looked to the nearest guard, who shrugged as he held out a hand for the papers.

“They said you’d be met. We assumed it would be your host in person, but if he’s been called away--” The man nodded, handing the papers back. “These seem to be in order. Let’s go.”

Dubbilex picked up his single case. Tim watched ruefully as his best chance of getting a message to Kon prepared to walk away -- after the telepath’s nod, Tim did not fancy his chances of getting close enough to slip the letter he’d written Kon into Dubbilex’s pocket.

Instead he brought up his phone, scanning the newsfeeds for the disturbance that had called the Kryptonian away.

Nothing?

“Hey!”

Dubbilex stopped, on the brink of stepping into the van. The guards moved between Tim and him defensively.

“What do you want?”

“I--”

“Get away from that vehicle now.”

There was always a moment of stillness after the Kryptonian showed up. No matter that they all knew that it wasn’t that he appeared out of nowhere, it was that he travelled faster than human senses could detect, there was still something about him just being there. It didn’t help that he seemed larger than life in the flesh, impossibly awe-inspiring and terrifying. And glowering at them. “Now.”

Tim forced his feet into gear, backpedalled away from the van. A second later the guards followed suit, herding Dubbilex with them. Once they were all clear, the Kryptonian scooped up the van, flying with it, a red and blue blur. He managed to get it high enough that they saw but did not hear or feel the explosion.

“A bomb?”

“Ah,” Dubbilex said softly. “That explains it.”

“I swear, we had no idea--” The driver’s hasty protestation was cut short by Dubbilex’s agreement.

“They must have planned it so you wouldn’t. I could have sensed your guilt before you got close enough to speak to us.”

“How did the alien even know?”

“They say he can see through things -- quiet, he’s coming back--”

Tim stood quietly, contemplating his options. Getting bogged down in a lengthy investigation would cost valuable time, but to leave would be even more suspicious, attracting attention that would hamper his ability to fulfill his primary objection. No, he’d just have to wait for a suitable opportunity to present his league pass, quietly slip away--

_Go._

The words sounded so strongly, that Tim looked up automatically. It was only belatedly that he realized that no one had spoken.

Was that --?

 _You won’t be noticed or missed. I’ll take care of that._ Dubbilex didn’t glance at him, seemingly focused solely on the Kryptonian, now talking with the guards. _I am conscious of the debt we owe you for your help in the Caverns, Draper._

He didn’t have time to waste. Tim nodded, ducking through the slowly gathering crowd. The Kryptonian was more than equal to protecting Dubbilex, not even taking into account the telepath’s own gifts. Cannon, on the other hand, was simply human -- and Luthor the least of Tim’s concerns.


	5. Suicide Slums.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cannon shrugged. “Got to know when to fold ‘em. This is a whole new game. It’s not like on CADMUS -- we got innocents to consider. When everyone around you becomes collateral damage, it’s best not to even give ‘em a target. ‘Sides, it’s not like I’m leaving. It’s just--”
> 
> “I won’t be able to see you, contact you, have any idea if you’re living or dead, and you won’t send a Christmas card--”
> 
> “Always said you weren’t as dumb as you acted.”

If you never strayed from the perfectly kept and maintained tourist sites, the business expos in the gleaming convention centres and the flashy shopping districts with their glittering window displays, you could believe that Metropolis was the pinnacle of human design and engineering that it claimed to be.

Suicide Slums put the lie to that. Nothing there was new. The district was less about human innovation, more simply the human condition. Crowded tenements spilled out onto the streets, there was not a single shop that didn’t have at least one window patched with boards and even the vandalism seemed to have a half-hearted, dispirited air about it. Inhabitants either walked with their heads down, avoiding eye-contact or sat watching passers-by with a hard, sharp gaze.

Tim was there as himself in public-incognito guise, an old t-shirt and wrinkled jeans hiding a stripped back version of the Robin body armour and his utility belt. An over-large jacket concealed his staff, while cap and sunglasses took care of his identity. He’d have preferred the Robin suit, but in broad daylight in an unfamiliar city it would have been too obvious. As it was, Tim kept his head down, made his way along his memorized route and managed to avoid attracting unwanted attention.

Cannon’s part of the slums was a step-up from its surroundings. It was a subtle change -- the graffiti was fresher, more grammatically correct, while the businesses had swept up the glass from their broken windows and lights were on in most of the shops. Tim found the Junkyard Parts & Repairs, the mechanic shop where Cannon had got his start, without any problems. When Tim wandered inside, a guy in his early twenties with shaved head and metal studs drifted over to find out what he wanted and direct him towards the bike parts. There were enough spare parts, all thrown together in no semblance of order, to give Tim ample excuse to browse for hours -- not that an excuse was needed. Bruce had ensured his charges knew how to effect repairs on their equipment, a decision which had installed a love of tinkering, particularly where bikes were concerned. Tim was fairly sure that he’d spotted a regulator that Jason would have killed for, and more than a few things that might make good souvenirs for Dick and Bruce. Not to mention a hydraulic unit for himself …

Happily sorting through the stock, Tim worked his way towards the the workspace. A couple of hovercraft were in the process of being repaired on the workshop floor, attracting the attention of the five denim-clad mechanics. Two were only evidenced by the bottom half of their oil-stained jeans extending from beneath the craft, while a third crouched nearby supplying tools or parts as necessary and a fourth, an older man who Tim assumed to be the owner, looked up now and then from where he and Tim’s guide were cleaning and reassembling an engine intended for a different craft. A fire-escape led the way to the second floor, which Tim guessed was where he’d find offices and living quarters -- the most likely place for a meeting to take place.

Tim drifted over to the helpful skinhead. “You got more stuff here than I thought. It’s gonna take awhile -- you got a toilet?”

The youth considered him, before nodding. “Second floor. Top of the stairs.”

Tim was right about the offices being at the top of the stairs. He listened, judged it empty and wasted no time slipping a bug inside before braving what passed as the bathroom. Wiping his hands on a wet-wipe as he left (Jason and Steph found the habit he’d adopted of carrying scented wipes since his visit to CADMUS hilarious, but Tim had needed three showers just to feel clean after leaving the penal planet), Tim really hoped he wasn’t wasting his time. Rumour had it that Cannon had gone back to his old haunts, and Oracle had caught him on camera heading in and out of the Junkyard more than once. It seemed the most likely place to find him, but Tim hadn’t had the time to do a more thorough sweep and talk to people, and after that morning’s explosion there simply wasn’t time.

He frowned. If he couldn’t locate Cannon before Luthor, or worse, the people behind the bomb--

The healthy revving of an engine pulled Tim from his thoughts, and he slowed his descent of the fire escape. The mechanic who had been fetching parts was now in the driver’s seat, while the hovercraft started beautifully and the others stood around, admiring the finished job. In the centre of the group, wiping grease stained hands on a rag was Cannon.

Tim had found him. The problem now was that Cannon wasn’t the only person Tim had found.

“You can fix any vehicle on the planet, but not one lousy jukebox?”

“I told you to stop messing with that, Kid.”

Kon looked equally at home in the rough denim and thick boots as he did poking around the workshop. Easy in retrospect to see how Tim had missed noticing him obscured by the hovercraft. “Then again, maybe that’s for the best. You know, on some planets Shania Twain’s classified as a public offence.”

“Is there a reason you’re here?” Cannon handed the rag to one of the mechanics, going to join Kon at the dusty jukebox.

Tim kept his pace relaxed as he climbed down the last of the stairs, nodding to the skinhead as he passed. He did his best to radiate ‘interested browser’ picking up a cardboard box to place his finds inside. It worked, no one spared him a second glance and Tim was able to place one of the waiting vehicles between himself and his target.

“Didn’t realise I needed a reason to look you up.”

“You know it’s not like that, Kid.” Cannon lowered his tone. “It’s gotta be this way. AGENDA’s--”

“Almost guaranteed behind the courtroom job and definitely going to be looking to finish the job. I get that -- but Micky, you really want to run from those goons?” 

Cannon shrugged. “Got to know when to fold ‘em. This is a whole new game. It’s not like on CADMUS -- we got innocents to consider. When everyone around you becomes collateral damage, it’s best not to even give ‘em a target. ‘Sides, it’s not like I’m leaving. It’s just--”

“I won’t be able to see you, contact you, have any idea if you’re living or dead, and you won’t send a Christmas card--”

“Always said you weren’t as dumb as you acted.”

There was an impatient intake of breath from Kon. “AGENDA’s gonna be gunning for me, too. Why not stay, take ‘em head-on together?”

“It’s never that easy. ‘Sides, you got enough to do without getting involved with AGENDA. It’s a pretty big world out there, Kon.” Cannon patted him on the shoulder, before turning to pick up a pack left leaning against the wall. “See some of it.”

Goodbye? Tim shifted positions to browse the supplies nearer the pair, this time careful to keep his back to them.

“Never thought the day would come when I’d be the one in favour of getting serious, and you’d be recommending R and R--”

“You got no idea how serious I am, Kid. We did the best we could for you, but this world’s not something you can anticipate. With the Kryptonian taking an interest … Well, that’s not something you should take lightly.”

“Hey, it’s not like I want him hovering behind me being all ‘everybody who ever existed on this entire dead planet could have put that mountain down without breaking it, what’s wrong with you?’”

“You can learn a lot from him. Things no one else can teach you.”

“Not sure I really want the diploma in ‘stoically disapproving of everything human.’ Couldn’t you have cloned me from the Amazonian or something?”

“She was formed out of the clay of her homeworld. Not a lot there for the geneticists to work with.”

“Yeah? I always thought that was -- you’re not trying to distract me are you? ‘Cause that only works with visual aids.”

“I’m going to miss you, Kon.” Cannon set a hand on Kon’s shoulder. “But that doesn’t mean I’m changing my mind on this. Look, he’s the last of his species -- but there’s no one else like you. You’re the closest thing either of you has to people -- so give it a shot, okay?”

Kon’s shoulders bunched. “Fine,” he said at last. “But if I ever wind up flying around the universe in my briefs, I’m saying now, that it’s your responsibility to stop me. Or at least see I get therapy--”

“Deal.” Cannon’s smile was faint as he shouldered his pack. Instead of leaving, however, he lingered. “You know, Kid. Jim and I did some poking our noses where we weren’t meant to, back in the day.”

“You? Never.”

“Can the comedy routine. This pertains to you.” Cannon lowered his voice even further. Tim stayed still, straining his senses to hear.

“--never intended as a weapon. That was all Westfield. We couldn’t find the original brief, but it’s pretty clear Westfield took the money, the samples and decided to ‘improve’ on his instructions.”

“Let me guess. You don’t know who the original brief was from?”

“No. But listen.” Cannon raised his voice. “Hey, Tyrell. When did you say the urban renewal project started?”

“Seven years ago. About the time you got the CADMUS gig.”

“Urban renewal?”

“Yeah, they got -- trade training for young offenders and everything.” The owner jerked a finger towards the smirking skinhead. “Algernon here’s working on a mechanic’s licence. Gonna be more qualified than me soon.”

“It’s working then?”

“We were skeptical at first. I mean, it’s kind of like a rite of passage. Politician comes in, promises to clean up the slums, things get busy for three months, a government worker gets horribly murdered and we don’t hear another peep until the next election. But whoever’s doing it this time, they’re smart with it. They know how it is in the Slums. Almost makes me think they’re one of us.”

“Could be coincidence,” Kon said slowly, but he didn’t sound convinced.

“Could be,” Cannon agreed. “But I don’t believe in coincidence. I’ll be--”

The sound of the hovercraft pulling in stopped the conversation short. Stopped all activity short. Sleek, shiny white, beautiful, it simply didn’t belong in the garage. Not a single one of the mechanics even considered approaching it. Instead they watched, like Tim, as a blonde woman, hair coiled in a tight bun, and radiating ‘unapproachable’ in her black business suit-skirt emerged, scanned the scene, and opened the craft door for Lex Luthor.

Luthor knew exactly what he was about. He nodded to the owner, but made his way over to Cannon and Kon without hesitation. “Kon-El,” he said amused. “Your guardian mentioned that you were spending the week contemplating the better use of your powers.”

Grounded?

Kon shrugged. “I contemplated.”

“I see.” Luthor was cool and urbane, holding out his hand to Cannon. “Micky Cannon. It’s a pleasure to finally meet the man I’ve heard so much about.” He inclined his head to Cannon’s pack. “Though I see you were about to head out?”

“Luthor,” Cannon said, returning the handshake. “You caught me at a bad time.”

“I’ll try not to keep you long,” Luthor said. “But I’d be very grateful if you’d hear me out. There’s been -- developments this morning you may not be aware of.”

Cannon hesitated, then slowly nodded. “Tyrell. Mind if we use the office?”

“All yours, Micky.”

Tim watched them climb the fire escape. According to plan. The bug was set, the radio link ready and the folding table that held the parts Tim was pretending to look at made a sound of protest as Kon rested his weight against it.

“Looking for spare parts? ‘Cause I got some nuts you might be interested in.”

So much for the plan. “Hi, Kon.”

“Last time I checked, Suicide Slums wasn’t the hangout of choice for either presidential candidates or heirs of Gotham’s elite. I miss a memo or something?” The words were mild, but there was an edge to them -- Kon was genuinely irritated.

“Looking for spare parts.” Tim put his cardboard box down on the table. “But mostly keeping an eye out for Cannon. That was an appalling opener, by the way.”

“If I’d known you were planning on stopping by, I’d have worked on something better.” Kon poked at the box. “What, you got a bike? Isn’t that too --” He paused.

“Low tech?”

“I was going to say ordinary.”

“It’s a hobby.” 

“Is avoiding telling me what’s going on a hobby too?”

“No, this is purely for kicks.” Kon raised an eyebrow at him, and Tim did feel slightly bad about the spying so he relented. “I had a feeling that Luthor might look Cannon up. I wanted to find out why.”

“Yeah?” Kon didn’t sound as if he was sure he should accept that. “Any idea what those developments Luthor mentioned were?”

“My guess is that it’s probably something to do with the fact that this morning someone made an assassination attempt on Dubbilex.”

The wood of the table creaked alarmingly as Kon’s hand closed reflexively around. “Dubbilex--”

“He’s fine, not even hurt. The Kryptonian got there in time to contain the situation,” Tim assured him, putting his hand over Kon’s without thinking about it. “But it’s probable that its AGENDA which means--”

“They’ll come after Micky,” Kon finished.

Tim nodded. “The attempt on Dubbilex was planned,” he said. “Quite well. If they’re going to try here it’s possible that the mechanics have noticed something out of the ordinary.”

“And I’d have better luck asking then you?” Kon raised an eyebrow, challenging -- no. Testing.

“We’re not in Gotham,” Tim reminded him. “Technically, this is your show.”

“And what a show it is, right?” Kon smirked at him before sauntering over to join the mechanics who weren’t even pretending to be working.

Tim watched Kon walk for at least three seconds before remembering he had an ulterior motive in sending Kon away. He busied himself sorting through the spare parts, casually reaching up to adjust his cap -- and activate his communicator, preset to receive the bug’s signal.

“--no idea,” Cannon was saying. “Kid’s always assumed it was Guardian. Makes sense. His DNA is uniquely suited to duplication and very flexible.”

“But neither you nor any of your staff know for certain?”

“It was need to know. We didn’t need to know, and frankly, I don’t see you do either. There’s not going to be another Kon, Luthor. Even if my people wanted to duplicate him -- and we don’t -- Westfield’s methods of operation ensured that no single person had all the pieces of the puzzle. With Donovan certified insane, that’s one puzzle piece gone for good.”

“But convincing AGENDA of that--”

“You don’t convince AGENDA of anything. Besides at this point, I think it’s as much revenge as anything else.”

“All the more reason then, surely, to consider my offer.”

“I’ve considered it. No deal, Luthor.”

“A pity. Still, if you ever change your mind, there is ample scope for your particular talents at Lexcorp--”

Kon looked like he was about to walk back, and Tim cut the radio feed. Immediately he did, he became aware of the noise of a vehicle slowing to a stop in the street outside. The second mechanic stepped forward, intending to meet it, but stopped instead, his expression one of sudden fear.

Kon reached him before the rain of bullets did, reached the other two mechanics as well, depositing them behind the shelter of the back wall. Tim took cover behind the shelves of spare parts, watching through the pieces of junk as Mercy did the same, coolly drawing a sleek gun of a make Tim didn’t recognise from her jacket.

“We have a situation, sir.” Mercy said crisply, one hand to her ear as she prepared to return fire -- clearly Tim wasn’t the only one employing a covert radio link. “6 hostiles approaching the yard. I suggest you stay where you are and allow the clone and I to deal with the situation.”

“Not like he has a choice,” Kon said cheerfully, and Tim winced. It didn’t matter that he knew that Kon’s abilities protected him. Seeing anyone walk into gunfire was never going to be easy. “You guys do. We can do this the hard way or the easy way -- pick the hard way? It’s been really dull around here lately--”

The agents exchanged glances and the second from the left nodded, a stocky man in the same dark helmet and stealth gear as his counterparts. They were equipped like Riot police, only missing the badges and shields. The rain of bullets stopped, replaced by concentrated fire, four of the fanning out to fire at Kon as the other two moved to intercept him physically.

“The hard way. Thank you!” Kon was a blur of blue denim and Tim was pretty sure those were two AGENDA agents that weren’t going to be bothering them again. Two stayed put in a futile attempt to help their fellows, but the final two were more concerned with their mission. They must have realized that Cannon was not among those present on the ground floor, sprinting towards the fire escape.

Mercy cut them off. A precise shot winged the faster of the two and as the agent stumbled, Mercy moved into intercept their leader with a swiftness that Dick might have been proud of, and a brutality that Jason would have enjoyed and anyone else been disturbed by.

Clutching her now bleeding arm, the shot AGENDA agent raised her gun to take aim at Mercy. The skinhead put a stop to that with a wrench -- note to self, Tim thought grimly, don’t take citizens of Suicide Slums for granted -- which meant that there were only four left.

The fourth barrelled into the shelves Tim was sheltering behind and didn’t get up.

Three, Tim corrected himself, reaching over to retrieve the man’s gun. He looked up to assess the situation and felt his chest tighten.

Kon was closing in on two of the remaining agents, his back to the third. She rested one hand on the hovercraft waiting to be repaired as she took shaky aim at Kon. Thanks to the virtual reality training, Tim knew immediately that with Kon’s attention elsewhere, so was his invulnerability. He reacted instantly, vaulting over the table of spare parts. The agent was slammed against the side of the vehicle, gun twisted from her hand and kicked across the floor before she even knew Tim was there, and knocked unconscious with the blunt end of Tim’s staff the next moment.

He looked up, catching Kon staring at him with an expression of -- something that made Tim feel acutely self-conscious.

“You were open,” he snapped, twirling the staff as he deliberately turned his attention to the remaining two agents, who had their guns raised, expressions somewhere approaching panic as they hesitated in the street. “Concentrate on finishing this job.”

“Mercy’s way ahead of us. She’s got these two sorted. Right, Mercy?” Kon’s posture was relaxed, nodding to the area just behind the agents.

They turned to look -- their last mistake. Kon moved with the super-human speed the Kryptonian had imparted to him, cracking their heads together with enough force to stun both.

“Gets ‘em every time.”

“You’ll want this.” Tyrell threw him a length of rope, the skin-head and second mechanic already at work tying up the woman Tim had knocked out. Clearly the occupants of Suicide Slums were not easily rattled.

Tim tucked his bo-staff away. “Where is Mercy?”

“Here.” The answer was crisp, accompanied by a sharp breaking sound -- another agent fell limply to the ground. “Kon-El, I don’t wish to hurry you, but Luthor is of the opinion you could be of more use upstairs. Cannon was injured in the cross-fire--”

“Micky!”

Both Kon and Tyrell were up the fire-escape in a matter of seconds. Tim thought about following them, but Mercy casually shifted in front of the fire-escape and having seen her disable that last agent, Tim did not fancy pushing his luck. Instead he lingered amongst the spare parts, trying to look as unobtrusive as possible.

He didn’t have long to wait. Cannon emerged, leg roughly bandaged and leaning against Kon who hovered them down the stairs. “I’m fine,” he insisted. “It’s kind of you, Luthor, but the Kid’ll drop me at the nearest hospital and that’ll do just as well.”

“If you insist,” Luthor agreed with a polite semblance of reluctance. “Still, with Kon-El accompanying you, you shouldn’t have to worry about a repeat.”

“Micky says he’s fine, he’s fine.” Micky looked as if he was rather hoping to have a word with Tyrell, but he didn’t get the chance. Kon ended the conversation by the simple expedient of flying the two of them up and indeed, away.

“That awkward age,” Luthor observed. “Mercy, the authorities--”

“On their way,” she replied, her weapon tucked away and once again the very model of a polite, subservient employee.

“I hope you don’t mind if I excuse myself?” Luthor spoke now to Tyrell. “The police have a tendency to keep one waiting. They’ll be able to look me up, and of course I’ll leave Mercy here to help answer questions …”

There wasn’t really a protest.

Mercy saw Luthor to the car. “Charity is on her way to join you. She’ll notify you once she’s close.”

“Good. The boy?”

“Three to my two. Still making careless mistakes and has a tendency to err on the side of softness. Control seems to be improving.”

Luthor nodded slowly. “And the sixth?”

Mercy looked to Tim.

“Ah,” Luthor said. He deliberately altered his path, and Tim braced himself to be polite. “Timothy Drake-Wayne. Unless I am very much mistaken.” Luthor’s tone said that he knew he wasn’t.

Tim shook his hand. “I’m surprised you recognised me, Mr Luthor.” The flustered Drake persona came to hand easily. “I can’t imagine you expected to see me here any more than I you.”

Lex smirked. “Wayne’s adopted sons seem to have a habit of turning up unexpectedly. You’re following in the grand tradition of your brothers -- in more ways than one, apparently.”

Tim shrugged, rubbing his neck with all the awkwardness at his disposal. “It seemed like the right thing to do. I mean -- someone could have been hurt.”

“Indeed.” Was Luthor laughing at him? It was hard to read that smile precisely. “I have to admit, I’m glad you did show up. I’ve been wanting to meet the young man who made such a strong impression upon Kon-El.” Luthor inclined his head slightly. “I’ll be keeping an eye on you, Drake.”

Watching Luthor walk to the waiting car, Tim reflected that he’d never imagined he would be hoping to be threatened by Lex Luthor. However, having his movements watched by a man with cunning and resources equal to the Batman’s was vastly preferable than having that same attention turned on his personal life.


	6. Frames of Reference.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kon somehow skipped over making the conscious decision to look for Tim by skipping straight to the decision of what he would do once he found Tim (get answers/not feel so much like a tool). Which only left the problem of finding him.

The implanted knowledge CADMUS gave Kon included a street map of Metropolis. That had been one of the weirdest things about arriving on the planet -- navigating down streets he’d never seen before with the ease of long experience. Kon was constantly surprised by things he knew that he hadn’t even imagined existed.

Like the Ellerdyce Memorial Hospital, the nearest general hospital to Suicide Slums. Kon knew exactly where it was, but the maps in his head hadn’t been updated in seven years, and he paused a moment to figure out where they were in relation to that.

Cannon’s hand tightened reflexively around his shoulder, and Kon was reminded again that while flying felt as natural to him as if he’s been doing it all of his approximately six years of life, Cannon’s spent all of his considerably longer lifespan believing in gravity and falling. He tightened his hold on Cannon reflexively. “It’s cool. I got this, Micky.”

Micky looked pale, his words somewhat forced. He’d told Luthor it was a flesh wound, but it wasn’t as if Micky wouldn’t lie about it--

“Not the Ellerdyce, Kid. Take us south. There’s a place I know by the river.”

It wasn’t a hospital. It barely qualified as a house. It was a shell of a building, with a large woman in the fenced off concrete yard, who looked as though she could go a few rounds in a boxing ring and still be home in time to hang up the laundry -- which is what she was doing when Kon and Micky touched down.

She wasn’t surprised at all by the appearance of a flying kid or a bleeding man. “Micky ‘The Mechanic’ Cannon. Should’ve called you ‘The Patient.’”

“Seven years and you haven’t changed at all, Marlene. The Doctor in?”

She balanced the laundry basket on her hip. “He’s in. Come upstairs.”

The room was tiny, bare to the point of nudity, but clean in a way that Kon was not expecting and was extremely grateful for. Marlene directed him to get Cannon settled while she woke the doctor, and Cannon allowed himself to be set down on the room’s single bed with a sigh that suggested they’d got there none too quickly.

“Don’t look like much, but the Doctor’s a professional. Will see me right, no questions asked,” Cannon assured him, as Kon carefully removed the makeshift bandages. “It’s not the first time he’s picked a bullet out of me.”

“Such fun times you all have.”

“You don’t want to see this. And frankly, I don’t want you to see this, Kid. You get going while you can.”

Kon paused in the doorway, trying to fix the light coming in through the boards over the window, the five-o’clock-shadow on Micky’s jaw, the tired lines around his eyes. “You’re not going to be here when I come back, are you.”

“And Serling said we couldn’t teach you anything.” Cannon’s smirk was brief, settling into something altogether more proud, more fond, more painful and Kon didn’t need any more cues to know this was final. “You’re doing fine, Kid.”

Praise from Cannon was rare and it was never given, it was _earned._ Kon had imagined what it might be like to hear those words, but never had imagined it might hurt like this.

He walked five blocks lost in his hurt, and when he realized that only irritated him more. Guardian, Serling, Micky himself -- they’d all have thought of it, known that leaving on foot rather than by flight would avoid drawing any more attention to the building than they already had, help Micky hide, whereas Kon had just blundered onto the smart thing to do without even realizing it.

It always seemed to happen that way. No plan, no direction, and whether whatever it was he did turned out good or disastrously seemed to be a matter of purest chance. Micky could see the bigger picture, Guardian had experience, Serling was smart. Kon had just been Kon, and having powers just sort of extended the scope of his disaster.

“Hey! Dirtbag! Your money or your balls!”

Kon waved his fingers in a shooing motion at the would-be mugger aside, continuing down the street. “Thanks, but I’m not in the mood.” Another day, another occasion he’d have appreciated the new take on an old classic, but as it was Kon was in no mood for either the one-liner or the casual violence.

“Fucker, you don’t brush off Fleet!” The mugger objected to his dismissal, grabbing Kon’s arm and tugging him around to face him. Kon had to admire his dedication to his purpose if not his technique. Granted, he still had a lot to learn in that department, but Kon knew sloppy when he saw it. “I got a knife.”

It was a pretty nice switchblade, glittering sharply where it rested against Kon’s t-shirt. “Dude, you do realize that’s not where I keep my balls.”

Fleet growled. “Give me your wallet.” The words were forced out between clenched teeth. Fleet clearly had a problem with victims going off script.

In the face of all the obstacles, his dedication to his task was pretty admirable. “At what point today did you decide, ‘You know what. I’m going to rob a guy?’ Did you start with the knife or has this been something you’ve always aspired to? Genuinely curious here.”

Fleet said, “Oh, god, my arm,” and “You’re not human,” neither of which were exactly insightful.

Kon crushed the switchblade between his hands. “Thanks for noticing. So -- to go back to my question, did you have a plan for this? What happens now?”

“You don’t know who you’re messing with, freak! The Fighting Five protect their own!”

Fleet did have a back-up plan, apparently. Five friends in ill-fitting leather and hefting nail-studded baseball bats and chains. They’d been lurking nearby, probably expecting something along these lines, Kon decided. Fleet didn’t exactly radiate competence.

“Five plus one makes six.”

Apparently the Fighting Five were more about friendship than being bound by something so mundane as arithmetic. There was probably something moving about that, an after-school special about heart-warming gang initiation rituals, but all Kon could think of was that Cannon had said goodbye and meant it.

Still, just because he was miserable didn’t mean everyone needed to be, and he made a point of shoving all six members of the Five into the same dumpster so they could enjoy their togetherness.

Figuring that he’d probably lost any shot at discrete anyway, Kon took himself airbourne. He coasted above cloud level for a while, careful to avoid designated flight paths -- he could just hear the Kryptonian’s scolding should he stray into frequented airspace -- but even flying didn’t bring the buzz it usually did. Maybe he was getting too used to the suit, but the tug of the wind at the non-aerodynamically designed clothing irritated. Or maybe it was simply too quiet? With no voices to distract him from the one in his head, it was harder to avoid the feeling that he should be doing something.

Tim had said AGENDA had gone after Dubbilex. He’d also said the Kryptonian had the matter in hand. “And if that dude says he’s got it, it’s damn well got.” Almost a fortnight had done little to reduce the sheer … intimidation factor of the guy and Kon stopped flying to float in uncomfortable reflection.

Nothing he could do on that front, and Micky could disappear much easier without Kon sticking out like a sore, half-alien thumb. Serling had, from all accounts, got a job on one of the League’s most well-guarded research satellites and seriously, if the level of security surrounding her personal safety was anything like that required for Kon to send her an e-mail, AGENDA didn’t have a hope of taking her out. Tekka either -- no one found a Hairy who didn’t want to be found.

Which meant there was little for Kon to do but wait and feel like a tool, which were two of his least favourite pastimes.

“There has to be something I can do.”

Maybe he shouldn’t have been so quick to blow everyone off, take Micky out of there? But worried about his friend, Kon had been in no mood for Luthor’s patronizing, or Tim’s unfathomable silences --

Tim.

It had been really hard not to just snatch the sunglasses away, demand to know what he was thinking, but even irritated at being caught unawares, Kon had no wish to get Tim in the sort of trouble that being recognized would cause. The Kryptonian had lectured him thoroughly on that before they’d even got to Gotham, and that was nothing compared to the dressing down he’d got after that last debacle …

And the hypocrisy of it did occur, telling Kon he couldn’t do anything in Gotham and then butting into his situation, but Kon couldn’t shake the feeling he owed Tim one. And not just for the glimpse of how Tim moved when he let himself feel. It was short, but Kon was sure he’d seen a glimmer of something there not calculated or planned, and he was pretty sure that Tim himself had been surprised--

In a way that he hadn’t been by Luthor or AGENDA’s arrival, and wasn’t that interesting in itself?

Kon somehow skipped over making the conscious decision to look for Tim by skipping straight to the decision of what he would do once he found Tim (get answers/not feel so much like a tool). Which only left the problem of finding him.

He was pretty sure that Tim keeping a low profile didn’t extend to sticking around to get interviewed by the Metropolis police force, and Kon had wasted a lot of time entertaining the muggers and feeling sorry for himself so backtracking to the garage was pointless. It wasn’t until he noticed the distinctive outline of the Wayne Industries building against the Metropolis skyline that it occurred to Kon that Wayne Industries must keep tabs on potential future leader number three, and that as starting points went, he could do a hell of a lot worse.

In deliberate contrast to most of the surrounding buildings, which were modern, tended to favour glass, steel or lighter shades of rock, and forward-thinking, futuristically inspired architecture, the Wayne Industries Building was sleek, black and stood out like a stain on a freshly laundered and pressed tablecloth. Kon was pretty sure that it was supposed to be an architectural call-back to the original Wayne Tower, not call to mind an anti-social teen forced to attend a family event, but either way the building, its darkness only broken by the occasional flashes of light that escaped its tinted windows, radiated Gotham.

Kon hadn’t really thought about what to do once he got there, but it appeared that Tim had decided to answer that question for him by waiting on the roof.

He’d ditched the cap and sunglasses, and was wearing a three quarter length black t-shirt that was tight and fitted and almost perfectly concealed the fact that there was body armour of some description under there. He was perched right on the edge of the building, improbably graceful and delicate and _still_ in a way that Kon envied, and he looked up, his eyes cornflower blue and sharp.

It was Tim’s smile that did it. Cool and unsurprised --naturally, Tim was expecting him -- but pleased and it suddenly occurred to Kon that he was wanted.

The soft ‘oh’ sound that escaped Tim as Kon shifted his mouth from Tim’s lips to his neck was pretty gratifying. Kon might be predictable, but the Wayne Industries prodigy hadn’t foreseen that. Nor did he have a strategy at hand for Kon’s hands underneath his shirt, teasing the bare skin beneath the edge of the armoured chest plate. Kon was pretty sure that this was not going to be the case for long, but all the more reason to make the most of this while he could, right?

And he was gathering all sorts of important information. So far he’d learnt that Tim kissed with his eyes shut. That his touch was hesitant at first, fingertips skating lightly up Kon’s back to settle, not lazily in Kon’s hair as Tana had or to rake proprietarily down his back like KnockOut, but lingering over his shoulders.

That Kon could get very used to the way Tim kissed back once the surprise had worn off, forcefully but not like it was a competition, more that he wanted to give back as good as he got and was Kon seriously thinking about this when there was so much more he could be _doing_. Like letting his hands slide deliberately over Tim’s arse, tailored trousers smooth beneath Kon’s fingers. Teasingly gentle and Tim kind of bumped up against him, wanting more but not knowing how to articulate it, and Kon decided to help him out, pulling Tim close so he could feel Tim’s heat pressing against him, hear his need in the gasp he wasn’t fast enough to stifle, feel his fingers tighten on Kon’s shoulders searching for, wanting more--

“That’s -- that’s enough.”

Tim didn’t sound altogether like he meant that, far too breathy and flustered and Kon leant back to look at him. Tim’s breathing was uneven, cheeks flushed pink as he steadied himself, and that was a visual Kon wanted to save for later.

“You’re -- a little too good at that,” Tim said, straightening his t-shirt, and Kon remembered that they were supposed to be waiting.

“It’s not ‘too good’ if I’m dating you.” Kon smirked, taking a second to make a few adjustments himself. Tim seemed to have missed that this went both ways. There was no immediate reply and Kon glanced over to find Tim watching him with something closer to his usual inscrutable expression. “We are dating, right?”

Tim’s smile was equal parts rueful and relieved. “I was wondering about that. We -- haven’t managed to get very far without being interrupted.” Kon’s thoughts must have been visible on his face because Tim raised an eyebrow at him. “I meant talking.”

Right. Talking.

Kon made himself comfortable on the ledge next to Tim. “I’m cool with dating. I mean -- I’ve only really done serious once before and -- that didn’t exactly end well.” God, how it had not ended well. “She was -- the only person who ever told me to wait.”

The more silent Tim was, the more Kon felt some perverse, masochistic need to fill the silence with all the pieces of himself he put so much effort into hiding. “And it was great. She--” Tana. “Was amazing.” So cool and sure of herself, making him reach down into himself to pull out things to prove her _right_. “While it lasted -- it was all I wanted. All I didn’t know I’d wanted.”

The silence was so loud now he had to look at Tim.

“You’re nothing like -- her.” Way to go, self. Nothing says ‘still hung up on decapitated girlfriend’ like inability to say her name. “Which is probably a good thing you know, because … guy. Not that I go for guys, generally, not as a rule, but you -- you kind of are the exception to a lot of rules.” Rules Kon was still faintly guessing at. “But -- sometimes I get the same feeling from you as from her -- laugh at me and I swear, I am breaking every toy you have in that bat-belt of yours.”

“Is that a threat or are you just hoping for another feel?” Tim’s smile was arch but he was talking again.

Kon leered at him from habit. “Want to find out?”

“No.” Kon raised an eyebrow, but before he could tease Tim about enjoying himself, Tim agreed with him. “Yes. But not now.” And maybe Kon wasn’t the only masochistic person on the roof of the Wayne Industries building in Metropolis that night because Tim clarified. “This is new to me. Entirely new.”

“Serious or otherwise?” And that explained a lot.

“Serious or otherwise,” Tim sounded faintly amused as he turned his attention in on himself and Kon could only guess at what he was thinking. “You’re -- not the exception. You’re breaking every rule in the book.”

“Batman’s book?” Kon teased but instead of smiling with him, Tim’s mouth tightened, and he pulled himself up from the ledge, going to the shadow by the fire-escape where he’d left a small backpack.

Kon stood slowly, wondering if he should join him, but instead Tim pulled a tablet out of it. It was wired to Tim’s thumbprint, and he took barely a second to bring up the file he wanted before holding the tablet out to Kon. “Scroll through it.”

It was a photo of himself. Grainy quality, security footage? Confused, Kon scrolled to the next image. Another picture of him. And another -- and another. “This is--”

“Everyday you’ve spent on Metropolis,” Tim said tightly.

“And that’s not creepy at all.” Kon continued to sweep through them.

“Batman’s very protective of his family,” Tim said matter-of-factly. “To the point of taking precautions -- excessive precautions.”

“Excessive is right. I don’t even remember where I was for this one.”

“Coffee shop, corner of fifth. You lingered for a few minutes but didn’t order anything. There will be a lot -- more of this,” Tim’s tone was insistent and Kon realized that he was both very serious and very worried. “It’s how he does things. And how I have to do things if I want him to agree to us dating.”

“In normal dating terms -- this could be considered a deal-breaker, right?”

Tim’s bark of laughter was sharp and unamused. “It could be considered a deal-breaker, yes.”

“Thought so.” Kon shrugged, holding the tablet back out for Tim with a smirk. “You are so lucky that normal isn’t even on my frame of reference.”

Tim took the tablet, but it seemed to be on reflex. “I’m -- are you sure you’re all right with this?”

Kon took pity on him. “Look, your guardian’s a paranoid obsessive with a gigantic spy network, and mine is a super creepy alien with a habit of showing up unexpectedly at exactly the wrong moment and who can listen in on conversations half a planet away. Pretty sure that nothing about this is going to be normal.”

Tim’s smile was rueful and he returned the tablet to his backpack. “Just how grounded are you?”

“After that last crack? Very. I’m guessing another week confined to Krypton at the least.” Kon watched Tim continue to dig through his bag, pulling out a sleek black object.

“That reminds me. This is for you.”

“A phone?”

“Your guardian will find it a lot harder to eavesdrop on typing.”

Kon turned the phone over in his hands. Between that and the tablet it was increasingly clear that no matter what had brought Tim to Metropolis, looking up Kon had been a serious part of his plans. “This is pretty cool. But I’m only going to be able to use it in Metropolis. Not much call for coverage on a –“

“Dead planet. I know – which is why I came up with this.” Tim reached over to bring up a map of the space surrounding Krypton. “Just because Krypton’s quiet now--”

“Ha!”

“Doesn’t mean that was always the case. There’s the usual litter in orbit from a planet reaching the stage of space exploration, though admittedly a lot less than normal … and there’s a lot from Metropolis … look.” Tim zoomed in on the map so that Kon could see the grainy dots that were obsolete satellites, abandoned space stations, and the assorted refuse of 200 years of planetary occupation. “Krypton’s in orbit around Metropolis, but it’s big enough that its gravitational pull has attracted a lot of the older satellites, especially the one’s whose power sources are defunct and are unable to move.”

Kon looked from the map to his companion. Tim’s expression was entirely earnest. “Are you going to suggest I take someone’s satellite?”

“We’re borrowing it,” Tim said promptly. “Recycling if you prefer. The TX-7849 is at least 50 years out of date, and the company that owned it went under 30 years ago.” He tapped the map, indicating his chosen target. “From the files I managed to pull up on it, the solar panels got damaged in a meteor storm and the company, already having financial difficulties, couldn’t afford to repair them. Its last diagnostic before shutting down is here --” Tim tapped the phone screen again, brought up the file on the phone’s secondary projected display. “You should be able to find working solar panels on the AT-T3 here -- some kind of internal wiring malfunction, hasn’t been operational in 40 years -- that you could use to get the TX-7849 running again.”

“Not that I’m not hugely flattered by the vote of confidence here, but there is a big difference between doing running repairs on my ground crawler and messing around with satellites --”

“Half the difficulty with satellites is just getting out there to work with them. You’ve got an advantage there, and that gives you the time to tinker and work it out. And to make it even easier, I’ve prepared a basic breakdown of--”

“You don’t just prepare for things, do you. What is this, a fucking textbook?”

“I just put some notes together, a few diagrams of the most likely scenarios you’d encounter--”

“This is totally ‘Amateur Satellite Repair for Dummies,’ isn’t it.” Kon scrolled through the file briefly. “You really think I can do this?”

Tim smirked. “I think it’s worth a shot. It’s not like there’s anything else to do while grounded on Krypton, right?”

“So if nothing else, this should kill time?” Kon shrugged, sitting down and patting the roof beside him. “You may have to talk me through some of this.”

Tim looked as if he suspected Kon had ulterior motives, but that didn’t stop him from joining Kon on the roof. “It’s not as difficult as it looks. I just wanted to make sure you had info for any possible complications. All goes well, you’ll only have to replace the solar panels and reposition it.”

“Reposition it?”

“Look -- here.” Tim leaned over Kon to flip the display back to the original map of Kryptonian space. “This is the Metropolis Space Station M4 – a manned outpost that oversees the satellite signal relay between Metropolis and space sector 6, as well as monitoring Kryptonian space for anomalies.”

“Tucker and Mack’s post. I know ‘em.”

“How do you know them?”

“There was an incident involving a baseball and -- well, there may have been a case of mistaken identity and the Metropolis Planetary Defence Force being placed on high-alert and the Kryptonian had to go and apologize in person, and I had to apologize to Tucker and Mack but they’re cool. They’ve been giving me the latest on the Shark’s games.”

“The Keystone game was a disappointment, huh.”

“Yeah, the Sharks got hit hard by injuries … Pretty sure they can bring it back when they face the Lanterns.”

“Mm.” Tim was probably being diplomatic … then again, he was probably a Knights fan. “Anyway, repositioning the satellite. We want it to be on the same orbit as the M4, close enough that it lines up with the interplanetary satellite relay, but not close enough to interfere with their equipment. I’ve done the math -- the window you want is here.”

“I can use M4 to orientate myself, right?”

“There’s better ways to calculate your position. Look at this--” Tim brought up a fourth star-chart, and Kon settled back to listen. When he’d thought about what he’d do when he finally got time with Tim, being lectured on star positions in Kryptonian space-territory was not it, but Tim was weirdly interesting when he was focused on something, relaxed enough that he didn’t seem to mind that Kon shifted an arm to rest on his shoulders.

It wasn’t exactly like the Paradox after hours, Cannon weighing in on the events of the day, Serling worrying about whatever her issue of choice was, Dubbilex weighing in like the referee in a debate and Tekka and Kon coming up with increasingly improbable theories about Waller’s personal life … okay, it was a lot not like the Paradox after hours, and it still hurt to think of Cannon, but Tim took the edge off.

More than that--

Tim thought this was worth a shot. Cannon had told him he was doing fine. Two impossible things on one day--

Kon knew he should stop this here. Quit while he’s ahead for once.

“Show me the solar panels diagram again.” 

But since when had Kon ever done the smart thing?


End file.
